Warped
by CatOrange
Summary: Modern. AU. Erik is a powerful, yet mysteriously scarred, business man who has fallen in love with Christine Day. But Christine isn't sure of this man who can so easily manipulate her...
1. Chapter 1

I've been a fan for quite some time now - but only of the book. I finally saw the stageshow for the first time since I was a very little girl down in Melbourne. Anthony Warlow was amazing! Anyway, the plot bunnies got going and this is the result. It is AU, but it is more based on ALW than anything.

So, I hope you can read and enjoy. Constructive criticism is always very muchly appreciated - if you don't like it, please tell me why.

* * *

"_Perhaps we would be more comfortable in my office, darling?" he asked, noticing her windswept cheeks. "It is rather chilly out here."_

_"The park is fine, Erik," she said slowly, but she didn't look at him. In fact, she was looking everywhere else but at him. He let the silence build until she was forced to suck in a deep breath. "I would prefer to talk to you in an environment that you can't control."_

_"What on earth do you mean by that, Christine?" _

_The full name, she winced. Of course, she hated the pet names more but the full name usually meant that he was angry. She wasn't terribly afraid of him hurting her – after all, he had claimed to love her, hadn't he? But he was intimidating at the best of times and when he got angry…well, things usually got broken. People usually got hurt. _'But that is exactly why we have to have this talk,' _she thought resolutely. _'It is time that he learnt he cannot control everything.'

_"You know precisely what I mean, Erik," she said, lifting her head and finally meeting his eyes. "If we were in your office you would have distracted me by now and eventually I would have lost my nerve. You have that ability to manipulate me and I don't like it. I don't like being in a relationship where I am intimidated."_

_She was afraid that looking into his eyes had been a bad idea, because he was now boring holes into hers. The silence seemed never-ending and she was now wondering whether telling Erik this was a good idea at all. However, he opened his mouth and only one word came out. "Richard."_

_Of all the things he could have said! "Pardon?"_

_"Richard. That insolent little puppy has put words into your mouth, hasn't he?" he demanded, searching her face for the truth. All he got was a frown of confusion. _

_"Apart from you," she shot back, now angry at his assumption that she could not form words for herself, "no-one puts words in my mouth, thank you very much, Erik."_

_"You say I manipulate you, when Richard is doing the very same thing! Does he not say such things when you run to him to tell him of me?" his voice was controlled, but it was cold. _

_"Oh, this is ridiculous, Erik. I come to you to talk of our problems and it comes back on me. This _always_ happens. You make me feel guilty for questioning you. I shouldn't feel this way, I shouldn't have to doubt myself at every turn. This relationship isn't healthy, for either of us. I think we should stop seeing each other."_

_There. She swallowed, and glanced down. Finally, what she had wanted to say for at least a week or so. Their relationship had always been out of the ordinary, after all, Erik was out of the ordinary himself. But she could hardly be in a relationship where she was constantly controlled and manipulated – yes, Erik was a magnificent man. He could be kind, gentle and charming but the other side of Erik was far more terrifying. However, her thoughts were disrupted by a finger underneath her chin, forcing it upwards to meet with those eyes, hypnotising and disastrous as they were._

_"Look me in the eyes and say that again, Christine."_

_Anger forced its way inside her. Steeling herself, she glared directly at him. "I think we should stop seeing each other, Erik."_

_Oddly enough it was he that broke the contact that time, turning around and clenching his fists. Christine knew he wouldn't take it well – he hated things not being in his control – but she had hoped for some civility. Erik was a gentleman when he wanted to be. But, of all the reactions he could have had, outright refusal had never been one of them. She had, naively it seemed, assumed that he would let her go if she so desired. _

_"No."_

_"What?"_

_"No, I think you're wrong."_

_"Well that's hardly a surprise, Erik. According to you, you're always right. I'm right, this time, and you know it. This…relationship, it's not healthy."_

_"Our relationship was fine before Richard came along." The sentence was laced with bitterness. She was not surprised of the jealously, Erik was possessive when it came to belongings. _

_"This has nothing to do with Richard, Erik, it is – "_

_"It has _everything_ to do with Richard!" he roared, and despite herself she had to take a step back. Dealing with an angry Erik was liked dealing with an angry tiger who had been cooped up for too long – you gave it plenty and plenty of space. However, he continued in a gentler, but mocking, tone: "After all, darling. Richard does not have to wear a mask."_

'Not this again,' _she sighed_. _"For the love of God, Erik, I've told you time and time again that I don't care about the mask. In fact, the only person who seems to obsess about it is you!"_

_"I wonder why?" he interrupted sarcastically. "Perhaps it is because I am the one who has to live daily with the reminder that I am not perfect?"_

_"Erik, everyone has to live with the daily reminder that they are not perfect. No-one is perfect. I am not perfect. Richard is not perfect."_

_"Richard," he spat. "It's all to do with Richard – "_

_"It's to do with you, Erik."_

_But he hadn't heard her. "Because Richard is safe, isn't he, Christine? Comforting."_

_She opened her mouth to retort angrily but, it was true. Richard was all those things and more – he didn't scare her or intimidate her. He was safe, really. He was the complete opposite of Erik. "Enough, Erik. Enough, please. This has to end – _we_ have to end. I'm saying goodbye. I have to."_

_"Christine – " she shook her head. Their warped relationship had to end for both their sakes. With one final glance, she walked away leaving him standing alone in the cold. _

_But then again, he was Erik. _

_He was always alone._

* * *

_waves hands_

_"I am the Phantom...you shall review..."_

It was worth a try.


	2. Chapter 2

Oh, wow! Eleven reviews! You have no idea how excited I was to see I had that many reviews when I opened my email, my thanks to you all for taking the time to stop and review. I know you're not supposed to reply to reviewers, but saying thanks to:

**Mirlo**, **Meredith**, **jtbwriter**, **Cookie222**, **citgirl2004**, **IvoryWolf**, **olinjerad**, **angel.of.genesis**, **erik'sangel527**, **anon**, **Chibi Binasu-chan**

can't hurt, can it?

As a lot of you said, the last chapter was a flashback of sorts. I hope you like the newest chapter, it's been through a lot of drafts and I'm still not happy. I tried to make all reactions sound human and in character. Kindly tell me if I'm staying true to our beloved characters. Constructive criticism is always a delight. The last name is not my own, it is the last name given to Erik in the 1989 film version.

Onward!

* * *

S I X . M O N T H S . E A R L I E R

The security guard was looking at her funny, she realised. Not that it was too surprising considering the fact that she had been standing outside the building for close on fifteen minutes. Telling her boss that she was fine with meeting Mr. Destler and actually doing it were two entirely different things. She knew the reputation the man had and while she was sure that her work was up to scratch, she had no desire to be ripped apart by a man who, if you listened to the rumours, had no feeling and absolutely no soul whatsoever.

Destler was widely known and not just for being a successful (if ruthless) business man. Perhaps his most known attribute was the fact that he wore a mask. A white one, according to those who saw him on a daily basis, but it only covered half of his face. A notoriously private man, no-one knew exactly why this was so but it was the subject of much gossip – was he deformed? Hideously scarred from birth or from an accident? Or was he just a nutter who wore a mask for absolutely no reason whatsoever?

"Mam," she was broken out of her thoughts by the security guard in front of her, "do you have some business here or are you just admiring the pleasant view?"

Ignoring the sarcasm, she found her voice. "No, no. I have an appointment here at eleven. With Mr. Destler."

"I see." And the guard gave her a sympathetic look. 'Fantastic,' she thought, 'even the guard who looks after the front door feels sorry for me.' "My advice, mam? Make it as short as possible. He doesn't like whose blabber on."

"Thanks." She replied, giving him an uncertain smile as she walked through to reception. The woman at the desk, her name tag reading 'Linda' was a rather serious person who talked in that brisk, no-nonsense manner. She gave Christine a pass, telling her that Mr. Destler's office was on the fourth floor. Walking over to the elevator, she pressed the button surprised that an elevator opened immediately. She walked in and it bounced slightly, she glanced around suspiciously as if the elevator would plummet her to her death at any minute.

"It's perfectly safe, don't worry." a woman stepped into the elevator just before its doors closed.

Christine nodded slowly. "It's always safe till it drops someone to their doom."

The woman laughed. "I'm going to the third floor, you?"

"Fourth."

The woman gave her a look as she pressed the two numbers in. "You have a meeting with Mr. Destler." When Christine nodded, she said, "You have my sympathy." The elevator came to a stop and the doors opened. "Good luck."

Christine had the distinct feeling she was going to need a whole lot more than luck. As the elevator shunted upwards, the butterflies in her stomach grew till. When it stopped, she had the feeling that she was going to throw up. Walking out, she found floor four to be exceedingly normal in its appearance. 'But then what were you thinking it would like that? A bat cave?' That thought made her grin, but it was quickly gone when a man came bustling over to her, demanding to know what she was doing here.

"A meeting with Mr. Destler at eleven," she said, showing him the pass. He took it from her, seemingly not convinced that she was here officially. He eventually gave it back.

"Follow me."

'Manners are a prerequisite for this job, I see,' she thought dryly, following him past the secretary's cubicles and down a corridor. She could tell Destler's office a mile away as even the door was imposing – large and wooden. It was shut, but the man knocked. Hell, even he was shaking slightly. Christine had the feeling that working with the man on a daily basis eventually led to a nervous breakdown.

"What?"

"A Miss Day, sir. Your eleven o'clock appointment."

There was a silence in which Christine swore she could have heard an annoyed sigh. She was rather indignant at that – he had been the one to set up the appointment, not her!

"Let her in." She did slowly, but just as she was fully inside the door was shut behind her. The office was gorgeous. Whoever had decorated it should have been proud of themselves. The walls were painted in rich tones, and despite the fact that the office itself was smaller than she assumed, it was no less imposing. The first half of the room was dedicated to a more comfortable setting, including a sofa, some chairs and a table. They looked as if they had never been used. The further wall from the door was dedicated to his desk, while one of the parallel walls was entirely made of glass. It provided much of the light, and a rather lovely view of the park across the street.

"Are you going to stand there gawking and waste my time, Miss Day?"

That brought her back to reality very quickly. Destler had been lost in the sheer elegance of the room, but when he demanded attention he received it. The man indeed wore a mask over one side of his face. His eyes glittered at her – there was no warmth there whatsoever. His clothes were formal – an expensive looking suit in black with a red tie. Destler was business, he exuded power. And, although Christine would never admit it publicly, rather handsome despite all that. "Mr. Destler. You said you wanted someone to update the logo and image of your business. I am here to help you do so."

"You're very young," he said bluntly, looking up at her. "You can be more than twenty. How old are you?"

"Twenty-two, sir." She replied, walking closer to his desk. She had to fight hard to keep his demanding gaze.

"Twenty-two," he said slowly, "and you think you can help me?"

Despite the fact that this was a very powerful man, she couldn't help but narrow her eyes at the mocking tone in his voice. "Yes. I can."

He produced an outright smile at that. "Of course you can. Well, sit and give me your portfolio." When she didn't move he barked: "Quickly!"

She handed over her portfolio, somehow managing to successfully quell the shaking her arm while she did so. Taking one of the seats before his desk, she clenched her fists. She was not expecting outright praise for her work, knowing how harsh he could be, but there was always that little flame of hope that perhaps he would say something complimentary. However, he flicked through the pages in a matter of minutes, putting it back on the desk. Leaning back in his chair he fixed her with a non-descript look. "And what makes you qualified for this job?"

A frown appeared. This was not supposed to be a job interview – he had asked one of the best graphic designer companies to send their best to help him design his new logo. That directly implied that she already had the job. Apparently not. "I'd like to think my previous work speaks for me, actually, Mr. Destler."

"Oh, I'm sure you would," he said derisively, bringing an angry blush to her face. "However, while creating a new image of Elysian's Catering might be an achievement for you, I'm looking for something a little more…refined." That comment brought outrage to the forefront – Elysian's Catering had catered for Carlotta's Christmas party last year, an event that was still spoken about! But criticism was part of the business, even if she had never had anyone be so rude to her before.

"And what is it that you are looking for, then, Mr. Destler?"

The smile was distorted. "Talent."

'Well, screw you, Destler.' There was a fine line between criticism that was helpful and outright rudeness. Destler had no simply walker over the line, he had set up camp on the other side. Christine stood up and yanked her portfolio off his desk. And while she desired to tell him that he could go to hell and back ('Thank you very much, you arrogant asshole') she knew she had to be professional. "I see, Mr. Destler. I won't take up any more of your…_precious_ time. Good day."

"If that is how you take criticism, I fail to see how you've gotten anywhere in business, Miss. Day."

She stopped half-way to the door at that comment and turned around to face the man who had a smug smile on his face. "And with manners like yours, Mr. Destler, I now understand why no-one wants to work with you."

'Holy shit,' was her first thought, 'why on earth did I say that?' But it morphed into righteous anger – the man was an arrogant pig! Besides, he had obviously decided that he did not want her to be the one designing his new logo the moment she walked in. What did it matter what she said to him now?

His face darkened and her righteous anger dimmed considerably. Perhaps it was best if she just left and never came back. "Did I insult you?" he asked softly, but she could hear the anger underneath it. "I'm terribly sorry, perhaps I should have asked you in for cookies and milk." She attempted to stop her legs from shaking, but wasn't successful. "Perhaps I should have plied you with compliments about your amazing talent, let you believe that you are as fantastic as you think. Perhaps I should have treated you with false kindness."

"Perhaps you should have treated me like a human being, Mr. Destler," she retorted. Inwardly a voice was demanding that she shut her mouth right now, but a stubborn streak firmly told her common sense that it was not required at this point in time, "and not as if I were some bug below your imminent grace and highness."

Destler stood and walked over to the window. "There are more than a billion people out there, Miss Day and I can safely say that I do not respect ninety-five percent of them. Respect is something you earn – not something that is merely given away like candy."

"I didn't say respect. I just said that I deserved to be treated as you would want to be treated. " she stopped at that, Destler didn't seem the type to want to be treated as the rest of society. "Alright, how any human would be desired to be treated. Yes, you're rich and powerful but that doesn't mean – "

"I have heard this from a dozen people in far more eloquent ways than you have tried to express, Miss Day." He interrupted, not looking away from the glass. Stopping her desire to huff, she merely rolled her eyes and made her way to the door. "Leaving already?" he mocked. "Your predecessor lasted at least half an hour."

"Oh no, sir," she said mockingly, the door handle in her grasp. "You've won. Congratulations! Please, enjoy your victory – " she glanced around the room in an exaggerated manner, "alone."

The look he shot her probably would have killed her had his eyes been laser beams. But she was already gone at that point, slamming the door behind her. He was left alone by the window.

* * *

Please review. I have miniature e-Eriks and e-cookies for all who do.

You know you're tempted.


	3. Chapter 3

After a bit of an absence – I went on holidays to the sunny Queensland – I return with the third chapter!

Again, thanks to:

**Citgirl2004**, **olinjerad**, **Voldivoice**, **Mirlo**, **angel.of.genesis**, **Chibi Binasu-chan**, **jtbwriter**, **Cookie222**, **erik'sangel527**, **TwilightSnowStar**

for reviewing! It's awesome to get such lovely reviews.

-hands out e-eriks and e-cookies-

As promised! Now, onward:

* * *

Christine wasn't often an angry person. In fact, on many occasions people had claimed that her personality was charming. She was not that annoyingly cheerful that it drove people away, nor that morose darkness that leeched the happiness out of every situation. She was situated quite nicely in the middle, usually cheerful but prone to those bad moods that usually arise from bad days at work. 

So when she arrived at her shared apartment, slamming the door open and shut, storming to her room to throw her portfolio and bags angrily onto her bed and turning around to stomp over to the kitchen to open the refrigerator…Meg's eyebrows rose curiously. Unsure of how to deal with such an angry Christine, she put down her book and walked over to her.

"Your day didn't go quite as well as planned, then?"

"Erik Destler is an arrogant ass-hole who deserves to be shoved in a blender." She replied angrily, taking a bottle of water out of the fridge and shutting the refrigerator door with force.

Meg's eyebrows were in danger of disappearing into her hair-line at this point. Christine's insults of people usually consisted of calling them 'morons' then apologizing ten seconds later for being so mean. "So, this was the one time that the media didn't lie about something?" Destler's temper, as well as his anal-perfectionalism, was well known.

"Meg, I swear. I tried to be nice, I really did. I do believe that there is some good in everyone. I was finally proved wrong – there is nothing good in that man, absolutely nothing. He is detestable. I wonder how anyone can work with him!"

"I take it you didn't get the job." Meg said dryly, watching her friend take a gulp from the bottle.

"It wasn't directly said, but the clear insinuation was there." Christine answered after swallowing. "Besides, after what I said to him I doubt he'd ever want to employ me."

"Well, at least you won't have to work with him."

She snorted angrily. "Knowing Destler he'll probably ring the office and demand that I be fired, spiteful bastard he is."

Meg leant against the kitchen doorway. "Yes, insulting a man like Erik Destler isn't exactly conducive of gaining more employment. What on earth were you thinking?"

"That I wanted to push him out of his window onto the cars below?" Christine had to smile as Meg started laughing. "Oh…I don't know. He just got me so angry and I lost it."

The two friends stood there in silence for a few minutes. "You want to eat popcorn and watch movies?" Meg asked suddenly. "I mean, if you do get fired there's not much you can do about it, is there?"

The corners of Christine's mouth twitched. "The fact that you can see the bright side of my career going down the drain astounds me."

XXX

Christine and Meg had met many years before in Pre-School as they both attempted to go down the same slide at the same time. Oddly enough this had made them friends for life rather than enemies. Though both were of happy dispositions it was not surprising that they forgave and forgot. Christine's mother had died in childbirth while Meg's father was non-existent. Antoinette and Meg had become Christine's surrogate family – her father had died nearly four years ago.

Christine wasn't sure what she would have done if she hadn't have had the support and love of both Antoinette and Meg when her father had died. She couldn't imagine life without either of them, so as she and Meg went to high-school, university and eventually out into the workforce and it was only naturally that they moved in together. While Christine was a graphic designer, Meg had been accepted into a rather prestigious ballet school. This had pleased Antoinette Giry to no end – she had been a ballet dancer herself before a bad fall had destroyed her dreams. But both girls were happy with their current situations.

Her father had been her one companion. After his wife's death he had taken on the task of raising his daughter alone, being both mother and father. It had been hard but well worth it to watch his Christine grow up to be a lovely woman. Christine had adored her father – he was the man who read her fairy-tales and told her stories of his own past. He was the man who pretended to be the big, bad wolf and chased her around the house threatening to eat her up. He was the man who cared, loved and comforted her.

But her most treasured memory was the special holidays they shared near the water. Gustav had a little house there and every summer that spent two weeks there, enjoying the sun and water. They went swimming and fishing and Christine loved to see her father be able to relax and not have to worry about work or bills. He smiled more when they were on holidays. Laughed more. It was these memories she liked to remember when thinking about her beloved father.

* * *

Christine had been like all those who walked into his office only to be criticised by him. Most reacted with anger – a few of the women went to tears – but most usually yelled at him. Some, like Miss Day, resorted to inane platitudes that were useless rhetoric: 'treat those as you would wish to be treated.' He found that all rather ridiculous, after all, nobody treated him with kindness and respect. All they saw was the mask. Why on earth should he treat those who would despise him with kindness? 

However, what made Miss Day different from all those who had come before her was that she had touched on a rather sore point with him.

_"I hope you enjoy your victory…alone."_

Most clients' insults arose from his manners, or his treatment of them. Christine had latched on to his weak point. He was alone. His face had always made sure of that – sure, there were those who were drawn to the mystery of the mask but he knew that once they saw what was underneath it, they would run. Who could love a face so twisted and distorted? His mother hadn't. And if the one person who had an obligation – he was her _child_ – to love him couldn't, no-one could.

Erik was only half right in his assumption that it was his face that left him alone. It was actually the hate that he had for his deformity that left him alone. All his life he had told himself that no-one could ever love him because of it and because of that he had gradually begun to believe it. And if no-one could love him, why should he bother to be nice to those who would only hate him if they knew?

Regardless, the fact that Miss Day had retaliated despite her fear – she had been terrified, he knew. Everyone who came into his office was scared of what would happen. Despite that, her hatred of him had won. She had struck out attempting to wound him and the fact that she had picked that particular insult was a credit to her bravery. Or stupidity. But hate was something Erik could understand. After all, it was a main part of his existence.

The mask was the most noticeable part of his person, obviously; however, it was also the least discussed. It was as if people thought if they talked about it the plague would be brought upon them (not the plague, no, just his indiscriminate wrath). There were mentions in the paper of his mask, but any newspaper or tabloid that dared discuss the matter with discussions of what had happened or what lay beneath it often found themselves facing bankruptcy.

Unsaid Rule Number One when dealing with Erik Destler: _do not discuss the mask._

(Unsurprisingly, Rule Number Two was quite similar to the first.)

Miss Day had courage. Something he both grudgingly respected and outright despised. In that split moment he made a decision. He walked over the phone and dialed a well-known number.

"Kahn? Yes, come to the office at once. I have a job for you."

Fifteen minutes later Kahn was situated in his office. When Erik called it was always important (to him, at least, sometimes Nadir doubted the emergency of Erik's calls). "Why on earth don't you just ring her and ask?" Kahn questioned but instantly shook his head. "You pride, of course."

Erik shot him a dark look. "Miss Day would not accept the re-invitation to the job if I asked, Khan."

"Knowing your manners," Khan retorted, "I doubt she will take it anyway."

"That is why you have the second option – blackmail. If she refuses, which she will, then you shall tell her that unless she accepts I will call her boss and personally make sure she is fired."

"Erik, that's – " his companion leant forward in concern.

"Don't question me, Khan."

"Please, Erik – "

"Just **do** it."

Nadir closed his eyes in resignation. He knew that tone. Once Erik had made up his mind about something, heaven and hell couldn't change it.

* * *

There was a knock at the door. Christine and Meg looked at each other, neither moving. Both were quite comfortable in their present position – curled up on the lounge with all the pillows and their two doonas. 

"Rock off?" Meg asked and Christine nodded. Both shook their hands – Christine came out with a rock and Meg a paper. "You are so predictable."

"Shut up." She hit pause on 'My Fair Lady'. There was another knock at the door. "Coming!" she said impatiently, flinging all impediments out of her way as she went to door and opened it. "Hello?"

"Miss Day?" a well-dressed man with darker-toned skin asked.

Christine raised her eyebrows, not knowing who he was. "That would be me, yes."

"I'm Nadir Khan," he replied, holding out a hand which she shook, "it's a pleasure to meet you."

"I'd say the same," she smiled slightly, "but I'm afraid I don't know who you are."

"I work for Mr. Destler," he answered and grimaced slightly as her smile disappeared, "and I have come on behalf of him to request that you complete the job that you were hired for."

"Request." The sarcasm was prevalent not only because she rolled her eyes. "You can tell Mr. Destler he can get stuffed. I fail to see why he would want a graphic designer with no talent."

The man shifted uncomfortably. "Mr. Destler had a feeling you would say something to that effect and I'm required to say that unless you accept the request he will be forced to ring your boss and have you fired immediately."

"He what?!" she exploded. "That jerk! He has no right to blackmail me after what he said!"

"I am sorry, Miss Day, but – "

"You're just the messenger, right?" she said angrily. "That man is an arrogant jerk. Fine. Tell him I'll be there Monday." And with that, she slammed the door shut.

Khan wasn't the least bit insulted. He had the feeling that he would have done the exact same thing had he been in her position.

* * *

A friend said my bribe this time should be that if you review I wouldn't sing my version of _Think of Me_ ever again.

But reviews, comments, constructive criticism is, as always, very appreciated.


	4. Chapter 4

Many thanks to:

**jtbwriter, xBrokenMindedx, Mirlo, TwighlightSnowStar, Emily, Chibi Binasu-chan **and** Clearysane**

for your reviews. All advice was very helpful, and hopefully all questions will be answered sometime in the (relative) future!

Onto the interesting bit:

* * *

Monday had come far too soon, Christine mused, shifting restlessly in the elevator up to Destler's office. The weekend had been good for her and spending the time with Meg had eased her fury at the man. Of course, there was still a heavy dose of resentment there but she had promised to keep her anger at bay this time. There was no point in giving him the satisfaction of knowing he could push her buttons. The best thing she could do was turn up, act professional and hope that Destler wouldn't be too…Destler like. Which as a lot to ask for, she admitted privately. 

She showed her pass to the secretary, who led her into Destler's office. He was talking with an associative and would only be a minute, the secretary explained, she was to take a seat and wait for him presently. Christine scowled somewhat at the women's retreating back – what else was she going to do in his office? Strip naked and starting dancing on the man's desk? She certainly wasn't going to rifle through his desk; she wasn't completely suicidal, if that's what the woman thought.

She sat down on one of the chairs in front of Destler's desk, getting out her pad and pens. Over the weekend she had thought about various designs, producing many rough copies to bring along to the meet but she had a feeling that he would want a design of his own creation. It was a big job, not only because of who she was doing it for. Erik Destler wanted a new design for his company – one to put on business cards, letterheads and in the foyer of his building but he also wanted several designs for advertising purposes. Personally, Christine couldn't understand what was wrong with his old design – it wasn't as if he was losing profits, either, as much as she understood, business was good.

However, she suspected that no-one actually understood Erik Destler. Checking her watch, she saw that ten minutes had gone by. She became impatient – it was bad enough that she had to come and face him after being blackmailed into coming back, but even worse was waiting for the confrontation that was sure to come. Fifteen minutes went, and then twenty and she became convinced that there was no meeting with an associative and he was just making her wait because he was a miserable, egotistical, sadistic bastard.

It was only when she decided that enough was enough that he appeared. "Ah, Miss Day. I hope you haven't been waiting too long."

Christine withheld the comment that was on the tip of the tongue and merely turned to him in her seat. "Of course not, Mr. Destler."

There was no response from him as he shut the door and walked to his desk, but she got the vague impression he was disappointed he didn't get the reaction he had anticipated. That, she felt, was a definite point in her corner. She had come here to be professional, to do her job and so far she had managed to withhold her temper. However, his next comment made it very apparent that he was not going to make it easy for her.

"I'm delighted that you decided to come back and work for me," he said, something akin to amusement on his face, "whatever made you change your mind?"

_'Your delightful manners.' _she thought sarcastically. "I was hired to do a job," she said eventually, remembering his words, "and I've come back to complete that job."

"I'm glad," he said, but there was a patronising note to his voice, "because I heard you weren't exactly happy about coming back. In fact, I think I was told to – how did you put it? – get _stuffed_. I'm not entirely sure how I should go about doing that, but the sentiment is clear, anyhow."

Christine had the sudden thought that perhaps being fired wasn't really the end of the world. In fact, she rather thought that being fired was entirely worth it if she could only wipe that smug smirk off Destler's face. "I'm glad," she said, in a voice that was controlled, "at least we both know where we stand in the situation."

The smirk didn't entirely disappear but it lost most of its sting. "How about we get down to business, Miss Day."

X X X

"I don't like it."

Christine sighed despairingly – it was either that, or give in to her temptation and beat Destler to death with his own stapler. She had been here for close on two and a half hours and each design he had seen he had said the exact same thing: _I don't like it_.She was close to being convinced that he wouldn't like anything. Each of her designs she had brought had something wrong with them, and he seemed to delight in pointing out each and every mistake in them. That in itself was fine; she had to create designs to the client's desires, not what she herself thought would work.

However, she had spent the last forty-minutes attempting to draw designs off the top of her head, only to have them ripped to pieces by the man. She wouldn't have been quite so frustrated if the man could simply tell her what he wanted. Every client had a picture of what they wanted in their minds – it was her job to materalise that on paper. Christine figured one of two things were at fault here: one, that he didn't actually have any idea of what he really wanted, or two, he had an excellent idea and he was simply just playing with her to further punish her for telling him off and walking out on him.

"Are you even listening to me?" Destler barked at her.

She was rudely brought back to reality. "I'm attempting," she said patiently, "but you're not making it particularly easy for me. Hearing 'I don't like it' constantly isn't exactly incentive to listen to you, Mr. Destler."

"I thought you were supposed to be good at your job."

"I am good at my job," she retorted, and she had to swallow the rest of what she had been about to say (_when my clients aren't being total assholes_). "Alright, Mr. Destler. Let's go through this again. What would you like for your company?"

"You're the designer," he said irritability, "aren't you supposed to be the one to come up with bright ideas?"

"Every bright idea I come up with," she said slowly, reminding herself that Destler was a client, "you don't like. So instead of us wasting time, how about you at least _try_ to tell me what you want?"

The man pushed his chair away from the desk and stood up abruptly, making his way to the window. It was at that point she knew why she was getting no-where with a man that always knew what he wanted – he had something else on his mind. "Perhaps," she stopped suddenly, realising that she was attempting to be nice to a man who had blackmailed her, "perhaps we should attempt this tomorrow?"

"We can do it now."

Well, so much for her idea of being nice. "Alright then, we'll do it now. Have you got _anything_ in mind?"

"Something formal," he said, waving a hand distractedly in her direction, "nothing too exceedingly bright or ridiculous."

Which, she thought, withholding the sigh, really didn't help her that much. "What about photography? Or do you just want some sort of drawn design?"

There was no answer and he had her back to him. Grounding her teeth she packed up her pad and drawing tools into her side bag. It was a ridiculous waste of time, especially if he wasn't even going to listen to her. "Obviously you've got other matters on your mind, Mr. Destler, so I'm going to go home and make up some designs. I'll come back in a few days and hopefully we'll be more productive."

He turned from the window. "I said: we do it now."

Christine steeled herself for the argument to come. "We're not getting anything done presently. I think a break will be helpful. It'll give you some time to really think about what you want –"

"I want you to do your job."

"At least we're on the same level," she retorted, "I'd like to do my job too, but you're not making it particularly easy for me. I think up several image designs, as well as some ideas for advertising, and you shoot them all down. I ask you to tell me what you want and you use vague words that could mean anything!"Destler merely continued looking at her expectantly and she sighed in frustration, sitting back down on the seat and getting her tools out once more. "Got any bright ideas?" she said, thoroughly annoyed with him at this point.

Destler had turned around again, the smug smile on his face only apparent to the scenery he was viewing. That was probably a good thing anyway, seeing it would have pushed Christine over the edge and out the door. "We will concentrate on the image, first and foremost, I think. The advertising designs can come later."

"Alright, then." she conceded, just happy he had finally made a decision about something.

"But, as you said, I've got other things on my mind at the moment that must take precedence. We can continue this at a later date; I will get my secretary to ring you with a time and day."

Destler could picture the look of outrage on her face which turned his smug smile into one of outright amusement. He could hear her muttering curses under her breath as she packed up her tools once more. Well, she could be angry but there wasn't much she could particularly do about it. It was time she learnt that he was in control of everything – he decided what happened and when. Christine disappeared out of his office quickly after that, the door shutting louder than usual as she did so. He turned back to his desk, his fun was over and he had more pressing things to do.

* * *

Christine's anger at Destler's power-play dissipated somewhat as she rode back down on the elevator, though she half-suspected that was simply because she knew she wouldn't have to deal with him for at least a couple of days or so. She would have the luxury of making up a few designs without his disapproving gaze on her as she did so. The fact that he would probably shred them the moment he saw them was irrelevant. 

That was definitely worth the relief of being away from a poisonous man like Erik Destler. Because he was poisonous, Christine's temper had always been in check before she had met the man, and now it seemed as though all she could feel was angry. He was a miserable, angry person who had decided that because he couldn't be happy, no-one else should be either. It was taxing, dealing with him, she discovered, leaning against one of the elevator walls.

A sort of weariness fell upon her as she exited the elevator, passing a man who was waiting to go up. She had just given her pass back and was making for the door when a voice stopped her.

"Christine!"

Curiously she turned, noticing that it was the man she had passed who was calling her. She hadn't given him a second glance, too wrapped up in her thoughts, though he was smiling and waving and walking towards her. He got closer and his face seemed oddly familiar to her, though she couldn't quite place…

"Oh my – _Richard_?" he laughed, dropping his suitcase and sweeping her into a bear hug. Christine laughed, hugging him back before stepping back to fully survey the boy who had turned into a man – she had been convinced that she would never see him again. "Look at you! You're even taller than before and I didn't think that was possible!" He was very tall; at least over six foot, but his light brown hair and blue eyes hadn't changed.

"Just look at you," he answered, a grin on his face, "you're just as short as before. Not that I thought that would ever change."

Despite the insult, she couldn't help but laugh. "Well, at least your abominable sense of humour hasn't changed."

"I can't believe it's you. After I heard about your father's death, I went looking but I couldn't find you. I'm sorry, by the way," he added, his eyes downcast, "about his death. And that I didn't come to the funeral."

"If you had known," she said softly, "I know you would have. I tried to find you and your family to ask you all to come…but it seems my luck was as good as yours."

"Hey," he said, suddenly, "I have a meeting upstairs, but did you want to get together for lunch afterwards? The meeting only goes for half an hour. We can catch up; have a bite – how about it?"

Even if Christine hadn't actually wanted to go have lunch with him, she couldn't have said no to his enthusiastic face. "That sounds great, Richard," she smiled at him, "I'll meet you outside in half an hour."

* * *

My bribe for reviews this time is e-kit kats. I ate one as I wrote this and it was really good. 


	5. Chapter 5

Well, it's been a while but I'm back! 

A big thanks to:

**Mirlo**, **jtbwriter**, **TwilightSnowStar**, **IvoryWolf**, **zeeksmom**, and **Jareth Love**

For your reviews and constructive criticism. It's very lovely to get all sorts of reviews! A special thank you goes to **jtbwriter** who prodded me into producing another chapter. It's thanks to you that this chapter is out and about!

It's not much, and I'm not especially fond of it, but it's a start!

Enjoy and, as always, reviews and constructive criticismare welcomed with open arms.

-O-

"A lawyer?"

He laughed at her stunned expression. "You sound surprised. I think I should be insulted."

They had gone for coffee at a little café a bit down the road. There were plenty to pick from, and they had chosen one set up between a pub and a bookstore – it had but a few customers within its walls so they could have the chance to talk and be heard. It also meant they got their orders quickly – Richard had ordered tea, and she a hot chocolate rather than a coffee. Years of working in such a similar café had created an immense dislike of the stuff. Even the smell these days made her wrinkle her nose. 

"It's the one occupation I never would have picked, that's all," she said, an apologetic expression on her face. "But regardless, I think a congratulations is in order! Who are you working with?"

"Henderson and Co for the last couple of years. It was a hard slog at the beginning, but it's worth it."

"And when did you manage to bag Destler?" she questioned. "That's a pretty big customer, if you ask me."

"The company already had him when I joined it," he replied, blowing on his tea, "and it's no mystery as to how I managed to get him – no-body else wanted the privilege."

Laughing, she warmed her hands on her beverage. "I have no doubt of _that_. Lucky you, then." She took a sip, marveling at how someone could change over the years. Richard was the same man, she thought, but somehow different. Instead of that rather large and dopey grin, there was a more guarded smile. Life has its way of changing people. "I'm happy for you, Richard. You seem to be enjoying yourself, despite Destler."

He replied with a grin. "I'm content at the moment, I think. But what about you? How are you coping withthe real world?"

"Not too bad," she conceeded. "Better than I thought I would without Dad.It was hard a first,not being able to turn to him for help or even just a conversation. But I had Meg there for support all the way."

Richard seemed unsure as to whether to continue the subject, wanting to offer his condolences once more but knowing that a simple 'I'm sorry' could not ease her pain. "At least you had Meg," he said softly, "I'm glad you had someone there to help."

Cat smiled slightly. "Perhaps this conversation is best left for later. It makes everyone uncomfortable, talking about death, and Dad wouldn't be pleased to hear that we were moping after him."

His laugh was genuine. "That is true! Well, perhaps we should talk about your career? I have to admit, I always picked you for something artsey. You were always good at things like that. But I have to say that I never imagined you working for Destler."

"Oh, don't worry," she agreed readily, glad that he had changed the subject.She would neverforget her father, butshe did not want to spend the rest of her daycrying aboutsomething she couldn't change. Butsitting with the manbefore her, shefound that Richard would always remember her of her father. They had all spent so much time together when they were younger - she pushed the thoughts away and returned to the conversation."I never imagined it either. In fact, it's astounding that I managed to keep the job at all."

"Really? Do tell!"

She explained their first meeting, their resulting argument and how she had been successfully blackmailed by the man. "- it's been alright at the moment," she conceded, "but I'm just waiting for the moment he decides to blow up again."

"That shouldn't be too long, unfortunately," Richard winced, "I was in at his office because he's being sued." 

Christine groaned. "Fantastic, like he needed to be any angrier – what's he being sued for?"

"What else? Wrongful termination! Mind you, I don't blame the poor woman. Destler is not kind on his staff and he's prone to firing on the spot if he's in one of his moods. Most of them are just glad to never have to be in his presence again, but some take up the fight, more to their detriment than Destler's, usually."

"I'm not surprise. I haven't spent that much time with him and I want to kill him already."

Richard had just opened his mouth to reply when a ringing interrupted him. "Excuse me," he said quickly, answering. "Hello?"

Christine watched patiently as he talked in short bursts, having the distinct feeling that she knew who had interrupted. 

"It was from Destler," he said apologetically, "apparently he hasn't finished with me."

Smiling sympathetically she said: "I got the feeling it might have been him." She drained the last of her mug. "You're lucky I've finished!"

They walked back up to the building, chatting amicably. Christine felt that in some way nothing had changed between them. Richard had always had a way of making her comfortable. "It was great to see you. I've realized how much I've missed your company." She said as they reached the door.

"Me too," he agreed, and then rushed out his next sentence. "How about dinner on the weekend?"

She couldn't help but smile at his hopeful face. "I'd love that. Call me with the details?"

They swapped numbers and said their good-byes, never seeing the man watching them from the fourth floor.

-O-

Despite the fact she had no desire to think of Destler _at all_ she knew she had to produce something when he eventually rang for her to come back in. Although their previous meeting seemed like a complete waste of time, it had allowed her to interact with man in an attempt to garner some insight as to his wishes about designs. When that failed (and it had, because he had been no help whatsoever) she usually designed based on personality. It wasn't as hard as it sounded – if someone's personality had been opening and friendly, she would usually go with pictures, or brighter colours. And considering Destler's personality was anything but opening and friendly, she decided that more muted colours were probably her best bet, and sharp, straight lines to go with his temper.

As the overall design, well, over-complicated designs were distracting and useless. Simplicity was always the best way to go in her opinion as simple meant easy to remember. It was just the case of making sure that simple didn't turn into generic. Because she knew Destler was anything but generic – her main problem would be getting it absolutely perfect. She knew he'd be a perfectionist, and she got the distinct feeling that he would accept nothing less than perfection. 

Well, complete image redos for firms were hard but worth the toil in the end. Usually, Christine reflected, however she wasn't too sure whether it would be worth it in Destler's case.

(Quite frankly, she just wished to get it over and done with!)

But as it turned out, she didn't end up thinking too much about Destler in the next few days. After an initial hesitation (she disliked talking about her potential love-life when Meg had nothing to share herself) she eventually cracked and told Meg everything. Her friend had forced every last detail out of her:

"_What expression did he have on his face when he asked you to dinner? I mean, was it a pity date because he felt like he _had_ to ask you out?" _

"_Thanks for the boost of self-esteem, Meg."_

But she wasn't too annoyed at her friend's lack of tact. Meg was good to talk to about things such as these as she had a way of putting everything in perspective.

Of course, she wasn't entirely sure what she wanted herself at the moment. Richard's sudden appearance was a definite good thing, but after so many years she wondered whether it could really be like when they were younger. People _did_ change and despite the fact she had seen no major changes at their brief meeting, she had to wonder if that was really the case. After all, she had said it herself: _"A lawyer? … it's the one occupation I never would have picked…"_. In the end, Meg convinced her that she should put all her wondering to bed and merely take it as it came. 

"You think too much," Meg declared eventually, waving around her dessert spoon empathically, "that's your problem."

"Thinking too much is not a _problem_," she retorted from the kitchen, scooping ice-cream into her bowl, "it's a good thing, it means I'm prepared – you know, there's barely any ice-cream left. Exactly how much did you take?"

"Not much." She replied, but it was muffled but the dessert in her mouth and Christine shot her a disbelieving look. But the look of pure (and she knew it was absolutely false) innocence on Meg's face made her laugh and they settled in for an evening of television and ice-cream.

It was three days later when she received two phone calls. 

Richard had rung, apologizing profusely for the delay. He supplied her with a date and time, telling her that he would pick her up at eight on Saturday night. But despite her efforts, he refused to tell her where they were going – it was to be a surprise, he said, and nothing she said would make him budge. Not that she really wanted him too. Christine was a huge fan of surprises. (Good surprises, naturally. No-body like bad surprises).

Destler's secretary rung as well, supplying her with a date and time as well. But unlike Richard's phone call, this one left her feeling a little uneasy. Her meeting with Destler was scheduled for Friday at one o'clock and she couldn't help but feel as if there was a weight over her when she heard the news. She merely kept telling herself that despite whatever Destler did, she still had dinner with Richard to look forward to!

-O-

Richard's earlier words about Destler's impending blow up seemed to ring true when she walked in for her meeting on Friday afternoon. The secretary shot her a warning look and she groaned audibly. She wasn't in the mood to deal with an angry – and therefore completely unreasonable – Erik Destler.

She knocked hesitantly.

"What."

'Fantastic,' she thought, 'this is going to go great.'

"It's Miss Day," she answered, standing at the door not particularly wanting to go in, "for the appointment."

He looked up briefly from his work and she merely stared at him. "Come in, then."

As she walked in and shut the door, she rather felt like a lamb entering a wolf's den. And if he didn't actually rip her to pieces, she knew with absolute certainty that he would do it metaphorically. She sat down gingerly on one of the seats before Destler's desk, watching him read through papers. He scribbled on some, and merely passed some by with but a glance. Eventually the pile of papers to be dealt with disappeared and he turned his attention on her. She wasn't entirely sure whether this was a good thing or not.

"What have you got for me?"

The tone was completely neutral, taking her by surprise. His mood swings were astonishing sometimes! But she quickly pulled out her designs, wanting to take advantage of a mood that was not abusive or tyrannical. She had brought six, the last two were rather hurried for her liking but it was her own fault if they got crushed – her distraction early in the week had left her short of time. There was a variety in regards to not only design (whether hand drawn or photography) but colour as well. 

The first three designs were rejected, and Destler's method of rejection didn't mean simply saying 'no'. It meant actively pointing out why they weren't worthy at great length. Criticism didn't particularly bother her these days – it was part and parcel of the business – it was the fact that it was in no way constructive. She rather thought he was just being malicious for the sake of it.

However, she got a positive reaction with the fourth (and by positive, she meant not an outright 'no' on first glance). "This has potential."

Christine had to work at not concealing her disbelief. It was her favourite out of the six she had designed, and she found it odd that he liked it as well. (Actually, was she found astonishing was the fact that he had liked _anything_ she had created).

"Of course it needs work."

"Of course." She said dryly.

The general design was minimal but she thought that was its charm. It was hand-drawn, with its main construction made up of his last name. 

"Perhaps a different colour scheme." He suggested eventually, staring at it intently and she repressed the sigh. She had always thought if you were going to go minimal, you spiced it up with colour. Destler was not keen on colour, despite her best efforts. "I will put it on the _possible_ pile. Let me see the next."

They made their way through the next two designs with Destler, as predicted, ripping them to shreds. At least, she thought, those deserved their shredding. Twenty minutes later, despite the criticism, she was close to cheering. She had made head-way with the man! One design out of six was great odds when dealing with Destler. She had despaired of getting anywhere, so any minor victory was an achievement. He returned to the only design in his self-proclaimed _possible_ pile. 

"I do not mind this one at all, Miss Day. Perhaps if you created a few more colour options or variations," he nodded, "and I would like to see your thoughts on the advertising spin. We'll go through it all in, say, a week?"

She knew the colour variations would not take long, and she could spend most of her time in the coming week on ideas for advertising. "A week it is then."

However, as she was packing to leave, his next question was out of the blue. "I understand that you and Mr. Channel are acquainted."

She stopped and looked at him, more than a little surprised. She thought that sort of thing beneath him. "Ah – yes, we're old friends from back when we were little."

He looked at her, and as someone who had always thought they were half-decent at reading people, she rather thought there was something akin to curiosity lingering there. "I see."

"If you think it's a conflict of interest," she added, half out of impertinence and half out of a desire to break the silence. "I can refer you to another graphic designer."

Christine swore she heard a tinge of humour in his next sentence: "That won't be necessary, Miss Day. I will see you in a week."

* * *

Review, and ye shall receive chocolate muffins!


	6. Chapter 6

My goodness; I believe I owe an apology for taking so long!

A massive thank you to everyone who has reviewed since I last posted and I hope that I can convince you to come back again with an update.

* * *

"So, I think I might have actually made some progress with Destler."

"You seem quite pleased with yourself."

Christine grinned at the man in front of her. "I wouldn't go that far, I'd only be setting myself up to be shot down in flames the next time I see him but I think that with Destler, you take it one appointment at a time."

"Very wise words," her companion agreed, raising his glass, "to Destler not completely ripping your self-esteem to shreds."

She toasted that, laughing at him. "I take it, like everyone else who walks into that room, your ego took a bit of a hit early on in your work relationship with the man?"

"Early on?" Richard raised his eyebrows. "Well, I suppose you'd think that the more you were forced to see the man, the less he would scathingly bring you down. But sadly, it's not true. In fact, I think it just gives him more ammunition."

They were interrupted by the main meal. The restaurant Richard had taken her to was considerably more upmarket than the places that she regularly ate at. In hindsight she was glad that she had taken Meg's advice and gone with the little black dress that every girl's cupboard seemed to hold.

Richard had chosen the fish of the day but Christine had gone with the pasta. As it was put down in front of her, she decided she had made an excellent choice.

"Well, talking about the man only brings back the memories, let's talk about something that won't give us nightmares. How is your brother?"

"Phillip is well," Richard answered, cutting into his fish, "but then when is he not? He said to say hello. He found it astounding that any girl, let alone someone who had known me as a kid, would actually want to come out to dinner with me."

She smiled. "It's nice to know that older brothers never become less annoying, right?"

"Something along those lines."

"So has he finally gotten off the 'Eligible Bachelor' list?"

"Of course not. I'll join the circus before he ever considers settling down."

"You never know," she teased, "he might just find the perfect girl and become domesticated!"

Richard raised his eyebrows at his dinner partner. "The problem with Phillip is that _every_ girl is the perfect girl."

Cat hid her grin by taking a mouthful of pasta.

"But enough of my brother. What about Meg? Still dancing?"

"I personally have a theory that without dance, Meg would dissolve into dust and float away."

Richard laughed but openly agreed. "I suppose you need that kind of love if you want to make anywhere in that type of business. I think it's great that you two are still friends after all these years."

"To be honest, I can't really imagine life without her. She's basically family." But wondering about how he'd gotten into law, she directed the conversation back on him: "So I'm curious, how did you manage to fall in the world of Law?"

He proceeded to explain the earlier years of his degree and she found herself genuinely listening. Richard had been such a big part of her earlier life and she hoped that now they had finally caught up again, that they could continue to be friends. "I never thought I would actually it enjoy as much as I have been."

"Apart from Destler."

"Apart from Destler." He clarified. "But isn't talking too much about yourself one of the biggest complaints women have about have their male counterparts?"

"Considering how long it's been since we've seen each other, I think I can forgive you."

He smiled. "Excellent. But I insist you regale me with tales of your clearly successful artistic career."

They spent the next couple of hours discussing their past lives, together with their plans for the future, over their dinner, and eventually, dessert. She wasn't sure about Richard but the night had flown for her and it seemed that in no time, they were leaving their table and arguing about the bill.

They pulled up outside her apartment. "You better not come to the door, if Meg is up you'll get pulled inside and you won't get home for hours."

Although Richard privately wouldn't have minded spending a bit more time in Christine's presence (she seemed to have a calming effect) he understood his long-time friend's nervousness and chose not to push her. "No worries," he smiled, "thanks for an excellent time. Besides, considering Destler's current wrongful termination, you're pretty much stuck with my presence."

"I guess I'll have to put up with it," she teased but her smile was genuine, "thanks for dinner, Richard. It was great to catch up."

He watched her as she made her way up the door and disappeared inside. He sat there for a moment longer before pulling off the curb and vanishing into the night.

*

Christine had been dreaming about building a snowman, of all things, before she was rudely brought back to reality by a certain blonde haired menace deciding to leap belly first onto her bed.

"Morning!"

Her first words in reply were muffled by the pillow, for which Meg should have been grateful, Christine privately thought.

"Aw, come on. It's bright; it's early; it's a brand new day – and since you decided to skulk in at some ungodly hour and head straight to your room, I was forced into drastic measures to get the skinny on what happened last night."

"First off," Christine started, walloping the woman with one of her pillows to get her to scoot off, "it was not some ungodly hour. It was about eleven, at the very latest! Secondly, you were snoring on the lounge while Centre Stage played in the background and thirdly, no-body says 'get the skinny' anymore."

"Minor details," Meg waved the complaints off, "now, kindly inform me of your date last night and I might just leave you alone for another hour of sleep."

"Thanks," Christine replied dryly, "or maybe I could just kick you out and now and actually lock my door?"

"Do you know how loud my stereo can play music? And do you know which CD is presently in this said stereo? No? Let me inform you. It's Mamma Mia!"

Christine's horrified look amused Meg to no end. "You actually _bought_ that? You actually wasted money buying a soundtrack to a movie that should never have been created?"

"You know which is my favourite?" Meg continued on as if she hadn't heard. "Dancing Queen obviously, but I have to admit that I am partial to Meryl Streep's 'The Winner Takes It All'."

She was knocked flat on the bed by the force of the next incoming pillow.

"As long as there is no further mention of that CD, I will inform you of the goings-on of the previous evening _after_ I have had breakfast. Deal?" Christine wriggled her way out of the bed and stood at the doorway, waiting to hear Meg's consent.

"Okay, okay," the woman grumbled good-naturedly, rolling off the bed and following her friend, "but I do a really good dance routine to Dancing Queen, are you sure you don't want to see it?"

Meg had to duck the in-coming tea-towel thrown at her head.

Christine dragged out breakfast for as long as she could, enjoying Meg's impatience. "I don't know why you're so excited to hear the news, it's not really that interesting."

"You went out," Meg deadpanned, "that in itself is interesting news."

"Are you implying that it is astounding that I got out of the house on a weekend?"

"Pretty much," Meg agreed, "now quit stalling and inform me of your evening. I live through you."

"To be honest, there isn't much to tell," Christine shrugged, "I mean, he took me out for dinner and we just sort of caught up from the last couple of years. It was nice."

Meg groaned in frustration and flopped on the lounge. "You are so crap at giving details. Where do you go for dinner? What was he like? Where'd you go after?"

"I fail to see how my personal life should be used to entertain you. We went to Omnibus and the food was pretty good. At least the pasta was, anyway."

"Omibus?" Meg repeated. "Wow, very fancy schmancy. Though considering it's Channel, I'm not really surprised."

Christine raised her eyebrows at her friend. "Oh?"

"Come on Christine, his family is totally loaded. Please tell me you let him pay."

"After he threatened me with blackmail, yes," Christine frowned, "I really would have preferred to pay my half."

"That's why you go out on dates," Meg patiently explained, "they are obliged to pay."

"Yes, but it wasn't really a date and besides, we're in the twenty-first century, Meg. I just prefer to pay for these things."

"Okay, okay. I suppose it's not really anybody's fault you're a crazy feminist," she continued on at seeing Christine's mouth open to argue the point, "for which we love you for, of course. Now, when he brought you home, was there some extra loving?"

"Meg!"

"Friends tell friends details!"

"Not when there isn't any to share! He's an old friend, Meg. I did not go on a date with him, I merely went to dinner to catch up. He brought me home, I said good bye and there was no kissing involved. Okay?"

"Well, alright," Meg said, disappointed but she couldn't resist adding: "So when is your next date?"

"It wasn't a date!"

"Right. So he just took you to one of the most expensive restaurants in town to 'catch up'?"

"Precisely."

Christine ignored her friend's disbelieving chortle as she went to get dressed.

*

"What about the work you did with black and white photography?" he asked, gazing at the paper in front of him. "I thought that had some potential."

She squashed the desire to roll her eyes at his inability to compliment anything. "Well, that was kind of a specialist deal," she tried to explain, "black and white photography and sepia works well for people who own antique stores."

"But not for me?"

The tone was immediately defensive and she wasn't sure how to voice her opinion that he needed to branch other else be considered dull without it sounding like blatant criticism. Destler wasn't keen on criticism. "I'm just saying that maybe there is a possibility of looking at other options, that's all."

"Just because I don't want bright sparkly colours and a picture of a unicorn pooping rainbows doesn't mean that I don't know what I'm talking about."

Despite the fact that it definitely wasn't the best thing to do in the situation, she couldn't help herself. She burst out laughing.

"Are you quite finished?"

Christine tried, and lost, to fight the urge to grin. "Sorry, Mr Destler. You're right, that wasn't really that funny. Can we, uh," she clamped down on the giggles that were forming again, "continue?"

"I'm perfectly capable," he said, frowning slightly, "are you sure that you can continue or will you erupt into another one of these ... fits?"

Christine apologised for the outburst, confirming that she was ready to continue without any further 'fits'. It wasn't until a few moments later when he was skimming through her various colour schemes that she realised that despite all odds, Destler had displayed a rather (warped) sense of humour – and furthermore, that she actually laughed at it.

She came back to reality with a colour schematic being waved at her. "Really, Miss Day. If you are not going to pay attention, I don't see why I should bother going through these."

"I am sorry, Mr Destler," which was true, when you were with a client your whole attention should be fixed, something she had been taught early on, "is this the colour scheme you like?"

"I am partial to it, yes. I would not go so far as to say that I 'like' it."

He had chosen from the blue and green spectrum which was ultimately surprising because she had been sure he would have gone for the reds. "Well, I can certainly do up some samples in these colours. See what you are ... partial to the most."

He ignored the jibe but Christine wasn't too surprised. "Excellent. Now, we'll move onto advertising, I think. Your thoughts?"

"To be frank, I didn't really think you'd be up for a television run," she said honestly, deciding that being blunt with the man was probably just easier on both of them, "and I was thinking more paper based – newspaper, magazines, maybe even billboards or posters."

"If they're of the appropriate kind, then I think I can agree."

It wasn't the right thing to do but riling up Destler when he wasn't in a completely feral mood was decidedly fun. "Naturally. I'm sure the Australasian Ufologist Magazine would love to have your business, Mr Destler."

The look of abject indignation on his face was well worth the comment, she thought, trying (and failing miserably) to hide the massive grin on her face.

"Ah, a joke," he said dryly, "how amusing, Miss Day. Careful, or I will take you up on your offer and you can go personally to negotiate a deal."

She raised her eyebrows in surprise at his reply (was he actually making a _joke_?) but before she could comment he had moved on.

"In any case, I believe I agree with you," he said grudgingly, "I would prefer to stick with a paper-based advertising spin. Any thoughts?"

"Considering you were pretty firm on what you didn't want with the design," she said, and not unkindly (it was good and bad to have clients who knew what they wanted), "I thought it was probably better if I discussed this aspect with you before creating any designs. I was thinking that you were probably going to want some sort of text together with any design."

He was silent but then nodded. "I will give it some thought and email you a draft outline on the weekend. I believe a graphic similar to the one we spoke about earlier is in order but I do not wish it to be completely the same."

It was wishy-washy but with the text and a general idea she could create something. "That I can organise."

"Alright, Miss Day, another week, shall we say? And I would suggest blocking out most of your afternoon. We will have a bit to go through, I imagine."

She opened her mouth to suggest that perhaps a fortnight was more convenient (and moreover she would have more time to organise things) but the look she was fixed with dissuaded her from actually saying anything. She withheld a sigh. "One week, Mr Destler. I will see you then."

He watched her leave the room before getting up and going over to the window to stretch his legs. Although he wasn't always fond of Miss Day's decidedly bright personality spilling over into her work, he found her to be an interesting character. He stood at the window, watching her leave the building, and was still standing there long after she had disappeared from his view.

* * *

And there we go!

I will trade reviews for packets of tim tams. Just so you guys know.


	7. Chapter 7

Is this an update you say? Why yes, it is!

To all the fabulous people who reviewed, if I could give you all a life-sized cutout of Erik, I most definitely would. And to those who asked what tim tams were, well, they're only the best biscuit known to man. So much chocolate, so little time.

Also, a special thanks to RedRose102.

Enough chit chat, onward to the chapter!

**

* * *

**

_Miss Day,_

_You will find attached the promised information._

_You will also notice that I have also included some draft designs of my own. Although I expect you have your own ideas, a few designs based on these would be appreciated._

_I will see you next Friday at 1.00pm._

_I have blocked out my entire afternoon and I suggest you do the same._

_D._

She sat there, staring at the email.

Despite the fact that she had her own office in the company building, she had always much preferred working at home. Her boss hadn't been particularly keen on the idea at first, believing that it was merely a way of being able to skive off while not under her watch, but she had earned enough trust over the years that she was able to work from home a couple of days a week.

But Destler said he would email her work address and that meant being in first thing Monday morning to get it. Other than the cleaner, Mrs Johnston, who had been cleaning there ever since she had been working at the company, Christine was generally always the first one in on the days she came into the office. Getting up early was not something she enjoyed but experience had taught her that working at night to the wee hours of the morning was not something that produced good work, at least in her case.

Four hours later she was still labouring over the first of her three designs.

"So I've had no phone calls from Destler or his office," a voice said to her side, "which, no offense, has really surprised me. You're not known for your ability to shut your mouth when required."

"Thanks Boss," she answered, swivelling her chair to face the woman, "does this mean I get a pay rise?"

The woman was Sophie, her Boss. She was a tall woman, and that was without the heels. Christine had always had a complex about how short she was in comparison with everyone else and always preferred to be sitting down when dealing with the woman.

"Hell no," was the instantaneous reply but there was a smile on the other woman's face, "remember, you still have to finish the job yet. And I hear there's some betting going on in admin that you're not going to be able to get all the way through the job."

"Yeah, don't worry, I know about that," Christine said, tapping her pen on the table, "since no-one else has backed me I've put money on myself. Watch me rob them all blind."

"Just remember who you're working with," Sophie warned, waving a finger in her direction, "it's not an extensive insult to our reputation if he dumps us as he's done it to most of the other advertising companies in the area, but I don't want to have to deal with a lawsuit."

Christine watched the woman walk off. Sophie was known to all to be a hard ass – and she absolutely was – but she was a hard ass for a reason. Last year the company had been in serious financial trouble and despite all odds, the woman had managed to keep the place afloat. A lawsuit would bring all that hard work tumbling down.

She turned back to her computer and brought up her email.

_Mr Destler,_

_Thank you for your email and the attached copies and designs._

_I will see you next Friday at 1.00pm and yes, my entire afternoon has been cleared for the meeting._

_Christine Day_

She pressed send, sighing a little. There was a whole lot of work to do before Friday.

* * *

"Three cans of Redbull?" a voice asked behind her, startling her so much she jumped. Turning, she found Richard standing in the doorway with a grin on his face. "And you've got that slightly panicked look on your face. Working on a deadline, I assume?"

Turning back, she closed the lid on her laptop. "Been there before?"

"Oh, many times. And many more in the future, I'll wager."

She saw Richard glance about the room. She wasn't the tidiest person by any means but when she was working on a project, all thoughts of tidiness and order went out the door. There were sheets of paper and pencils all over the wall length desk.

"No offence Christine but it looks like a bomb has gone off in this room!"

Christine laughed. "If you can still walk through the door then I see nothing wrong with it."

"Sorry we're interrupting," and Meg's face popped around Richard's body, "but he was in the neighbourhood and wanted to see if you were in. I just wanted to make sure you hadn't gotten high on Redbull and decided to streak naked through the streets."

"Thanks for the concern," Christine said dryly, "it's nice to know you care."

"Come on, you needed a break anyway. Come and grab a snack or something."

Standing up, she stretched, cracking a few joints. "Yeah, might be a good idea. You have time to hang around for some chit chat, Richard?"

"I always have time for chit chat." he replied, following Meg out the door and into the kitchen area. Christine motioned for him to take a seat on one of the tall chairs on the other side of the bench.

Meg started up the kettle, questioning their guest as to what he wanted. "Coffee?" she repeated. "Thank the Lord. Someone who doesn't have this unnatural prejudice against one of the best beverages known to man."

Christine snorted in derision, rummaging around in the fridge for a bottle of water. "It's not unnatural," she retorted, closing the door, "it's a –"

" – foul smelling, evil brew concocted by the demons from Hell." Meg finished for her. She raised her eyebrows at Richard. "This is, of course, coming from the woman who lives on Redbull come deadline time."

"Inconsequential," was Christine's reply, taking a seat next to Richard, "Redbull is scientifically proven to give you wings."

Richard laughed as Meg shook her head and poured the boiling water into two mugs. She pushed it over to him, along with the sugar bowl and leaned against the counter while warming her hands on her own mug. "So Christine tells me you're a lawyer, huh?"

"Depends," Richard answered, stirring in his sugar, "if I say yes, will you let me back into the house ever again?"

Meg laughed. "I suppose so."

"I really like this apartment," he said, "did it come like this or did you do renovations on it?"

"We painted," Christine was the one to answer, "and knocked out a wall to open up the kitchen here and the living room. It was a really good buy, to tell you the truth. It's got enough room so we can have some space if we need it."

"Christine wants to soundproof her room," Meg added, "she thinks my choice in music is unacceptable."

"That's because it _is_ unacceptable," she muttered into her bottle.

"So when are you meeting with Destler again?"

"Friday," she answered with a rueful smile, "so two days til deadline. This will probably end up being the final design, so I'm trying to make sure everything is perfect."

"So that means you won't have to be rushing to do anything for him after that?" Richard enquired.

"Well, I won't be forced to squeeze everything into a week unless he wants a rush order on the advertising spin. I don't envisage that'll be the case, so hopefully no."

"So that means you'd have the weekend spare?"

"Well, yeah," she shrugged her shoulders, "I suppose. Why?"

Meg smiled into her mug. Christine wasn't dumb by any meaning of the word but she'd never been particularly cluey with guys.

"Well I confess, I did come around here for a reason," Richard said, stirring his coffee, "I just so happen to have some spare tickets to the Charity Ball happening this Saturday and I wanted to know if you two lovely ladies wanted to come."

"Absolutely."

Christine laughed at her friend's eagerness. "You don't even know what a Charity Ball entails, Meg!"

"It's usually a pretty good night. There's free food and alcohol, dancing and a lot of company," Richard added, seeing the expression on Christine's face, "and I'm not really selling this to you, am I?"

"Oh come on Christine. Free stuff, a chance to dress up and great company," Meg cajoled, "and I was referring to me in the last part, not you, Richard."

Richard shrugged his shoulders, smiling at Christine. "She's got a valid point."

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head at the both of them. "Okay, okay. Fine, I'll come."

* * *

"Good morning Mr Destler!"

Erik raised his head to see a beaming Christine Day standing in his doorway. After a few moments of stony silence didn't waive the grin, he frowned. "I see something has put you in a good mood, Miss Day."

"Well it is Friday," she answered, walking into the room and putting her coat on the back of a chair, "which means that the weekend is nearly here. You don't get excited at the prospect of two days of freedom?"

Christine could have sworn his responding look suggested she was a moron but his criticisms and looks were staring to become water off a duck's back. She sat down on the chair, opening up her portfolio bag. Besides, today meant producing a week's worth of designing and (hopefully) a final choice on the design that he wanted.

"So I'll take that as a no," she said instead, smiling at his disgruntled expression, "but I guess we've got some work to get through. Did you want to start?"

"As you wish, Miss Day," he answered, "what have you got to show me?

The first two designs weren't considered completely unacceptable but neither did they produce any sign from Destler that they were fantastic. This wasn't entirely unexpected, considering his nature and their last meeting. It had been difficult trying to incorporate his designs in with her own, especially since the two ideas were so drastically different. Destler wasn't a half-bad artist and it was clear he'd put some thought into what he'd sent her.

She pulled out her last design.

"So I've saved my favourite for last," she said, pulling a sheet out of her portfolio bag and laying it flat on the desk before him, "what are you first thoughts on this one?"

There was a moment of silence and there was a growing dread in Christine's stomach that he wasn't going to like it. Criticism was acceptable but she had always managed to make her client's happy – she was beginning to think that this would never be the case with Destler. "I'm impressed," he said eventually, looking up at her hopeful face, "I do like this one."

Relief spread throughout her. Despite its lack of colour, she did consider it her favourite out of the three designs. It was a stark contrast with a black background and all the writing in white. It wasn't complicated by any means but she felt that the contrast would at least make it stick out from the page. She had hoped it would appeal to Destler on the basis that it a) contained no excessively bright colours and b) was simplistic in nature.

"I know it wasn't one of your draft designs," she began.

"That is of no consequence. I was merely brainstorming. I am, after all, paying you to come up with the design. This is acceptable," he nodded and she felt a strange sense of pride, "although to tell you the truth, Miss Day, I was half-expecting you to show me something involving fluro or neon colours."

She laughed. "I did have a design involving butterflies that my roommate thought was simply fabulous."

He laughed in return and although astounded, she kind of liked the sound. She thought she was (well, maybe only a little) getting used to his mood swings and not taking the way he treated her personally. It was begrudging, but there was a bit of respect starting to form for the man. After all, she knew that you didn't get to a position like his without some level of intelligence and he had not let the mask (or whatever reason he wore it for) deter his aspirations.

"This is my pick, Miss Day."

"Are you sure you're not picking it simply because it was the best out of the three?" she asked. "Because I can always go back to the drawing board."

"No, this is perfect," he repeated, "this is the design I want."

Relief at finally having a design, she turned his thoughts towards advertising. "So I have a list of possible newspapers and magazines that I thought you might want to - "

"Erik?" a voice interrupted.

Two heads turned instantaneously to find Nadir standing in the doorway. "Nadir? I assume this is important, yes?"

"I apologise, but it's about the matter of Parker."

Christine watched the expression on Destler's face turn blank and she glanced curiously back at Nadir who responded with a small smile. Although he had been acting under orders, she had not forgotten their last meeting and she scowled in reply. "This is something I must attend to, Miss Day. I shall not be long," he said, walking past her to the door. He turned back just as he was about to walk out, "and it goes without saying, Miss Day: _do_ _not touch anything_."

Privately, Christine felt she probably ought to be insulted but knowing how many times her curiosity had gotten her in trouble in the past, she let it go. She rummaged through her portfolio, getting a few odds and ends back into the right order before sitting back in her chair and glancing about the room. Patience was indeed a virtue but it wasn't one that she possessed.

Although she could appreciate the aesthetic nature of the room (it was an interior-decorator's dream, she thought) every time she visited the office she couldn't help but be struck by the sheer impersonal nature of the room. There were no personal photos, only pictures of scenery stuck up on the wall. For someone who enjoyed having things around her that reminded her of good times spent with friends, it was a little, well, sterile.

Getting up from the chair, she walked over the window. He truly did have an excellent view and she thought if she had an office like this, little to no work would get done.

Just as she was about to sit back in the chair, she noticed a familiar piece of paper on the side of Destler's table. She reached out and turned it around, reading the curly script with a bemused expression on her face. It was the same invitation that Richard had given to her not four days ago – an invitation to the Charity Ball. She supposed it shouldn't be too much of a surprise, Destler was a major player in the business industry and she knew that functions like these were supposed to attract the influential.

She was curious as to whether he would go, or whether he ever did go to functions like that. It was clear that he did not let the mask interfere with anything he considered important but she doubted that Balls were really his cup of tea – or whether he could stand to be in such a large room with so many people and be stared at the entire evening. In an office, one to one, was fine but she knew the type of whispering and gossiping that could occur with such a large number of people in one room.

"Precisely what part of don't touch anything don't you understand, Miss Day?"

She whirled around, trying to school the guilty expression on her face into something resembling nonchalance. "Well, Mr Destler, it's – "

"Yes, Miss Day?" he queried, arms set across his chest.

Unable to think of a suitable lie on the spot, she sighed. "Okay, yes. Curiosity got the better of me but only because I've got an invitation just like that. I'm sorry, I didn't rifle through your drawers or anything like that."

"Only because they're locked, I imagine," Destler replied, walking behind the desk and taking his seat, "you've been invited to the Charity Ball?"

"Is that surprise I hear in your tone, Mr Destler?" she teased. "Yes, myself and a couple of friends are going."

"I see."

She couldn't help herself. "Are you going to go?"

Erik gazed at the inquisitive face before him. "And what business is it of yours if I am or not, Miss Day?"

"Apologies," she replied, not surprised he wouldn't give her an answer, "you're right. It is none of my business. Shall we get back to it?"

"Indeed. I believe we were discussing possible means of advertising?"

"Yes," she answered, getting back into the rhythm of business, "so, I imagine you're probably going to be a bit selective as to what you want. And, no offense, but selective in this business usually leads to expensive. I know you probably don't care but it'll be my job to list the prices and I thought I ought to tell you now – "

"Price is of no consequence," he interrupted, waving his hand, "and yes, I have already chosen several magazines and newspapers that I believe will be acceptable."

She took the offered list and was pleased to see that half the names on there she had already put down in her own possible list. "How big are you thinking? Quarter page, half page, full page?"

"Definitely full page for the magazines," he answered, tapping his fingers on the desk before him, "but I have not decided as to the newspapers. I suggest getting quotes for both full and half page and I shall decide from there."

"Right, I'll start ringing around and get some quotes."

"If you email me the quotes I will look them over," he said, "but I will want to see everything laid out before you send anything out to be printed."

"That's fair enough," she replied, "alright, well I'll get on to that first thing. Do we need to organise another meeting?"

"Not as of yet. Email me the information and we will go from there."

"I'm not implying that I'm going to take the next stage slow," Christine said slowly, "but I am curious as to whether you're eager for the advertising to start as quickly as possible."

"I am in no extraordinary rush, Miss Day," he answered, "and if everything is done in a timely fashion, that will suit me fine."

The thought of not having to cram everything into a week was a good feeling. "Excellent." She packed up her papers and put them back into her bag.

"May I keep this copy?" Destler asked and she glanced up to see him holding the copy of the chosen design.

"Of course. You might want to look over it in the next week or so. I have had clients decide at the last minute that it's not what they want after all."

He nodded. "Indeed. I will await your email then, Miss Day."

Just as she was about to leave, she turned back again. "So, I might see you tomorrow then, Mr Destler?"

He blinked at her but before he could answer, she was gone.

* * *

I'd forgotten how much fun it was to write the story!

Free mars bars for all who read. Yes?


	8. Chapter 8

What's this, yet another update?

It started off small and then sort of grew.

Again, a massive thanks to all those who took the time to review. You're all pretty fabulous! Hopefully all questions will be answered.

* * *

Christine recalled the conversation she had been forced to have with Richard the day after receiving the invitation whereupon Meg had realised that the invitation merely said _formal dress attire_. When Christine had said that she thought formal simply meant a dress, Meg had bombarded her with questions ("And what type of dress does that mean? Full length? Is cocktail acceptable? Does it have to actually be a gown? These are questions we need answered, Christine!") until she finally conceded to ring Richard and ask.

"_I apologise in advance, Richard, but Meg is just curious as to precisely what formal means for Saturday."_

_She heard him chuckle over the phone. "Don't be too worried. It says formal but no-one really goes all out. A lot of the women just wear cocktail style dresses now and something like that should be fine."_

"_I didn't think it would be anything too extravagant. Alright, excellent. Well, I guess we will see you at the Ball on Saturday evening!"_

"_Just before you hang up," he said quickly, "I was just thinking that I'm already organising for someone to drive me there. Perhaps I can swing by and pick you two up as well?"_

"_Give me two secs and I'll check with Meg," Christine put her hand over the speaker and called to her friend in the kitchen. The response was an emphatic yes ("Of course its okay, Christine! What other response would I be going to give? 'No, I'm sorry. I thought I would get on my horse and ride there myself!'") "Meg says that would be absolutely lovely and I agree. As long as you are sure?"_

"_Absolutely sure," Richard replied, "I'll pick you up at seven, okay?"_

"_Seven would be great. See you then!"_

After the conversation, Meg had insisted that she needed to go shopping and since Friday afternoon after her rehearsal was the only time she could fit it in, Christine privately thanked (although she'd never admit it if someone asked her) Destler for scheduling an appointment. And so after coming home from Destler's office on Friday she had been presented with Meg's selection.

(Or rather, she had been accosted by her friend the moment she set foot in the living room and had been forbidden to leave until at least agreeing to try on the dress).

"Stop looking at it like it's a dead rat," Meg scolded her friend, "it's perfectly fine! I even made sure it had straps just for you!"

To be fair, she had needed a dress and Meg had obviously gone out of her way to try and be helpful. It was a deep purple number that indeed had small adjustable straps and even ribbons at the back to pull it in rather than a zipper. "I'm sorry, it's lovely. Thanks. Give us a sec and I'll try it on."

After a minor spot of trouble that involved getting her arm stuck above her head, she came back out into the living room to an eager Meg. "Do you mind doing the back up for me?"

Meg pulled the ribbons in and Christine whirled around. "It's a bit long, but that's no matter. It fits really well. Nice job!"

"The convenience of living with someone who is roughly the same size as you!" Meg replied. "Expect the fact that you're a short ass. But that's okay, you can just wear some heels and that'll be fine."

"I'm sorry, who said anything about heels?"

"Well of course there is going to be heels," Meg scoffed, "you can hardly go to something like this looking like a hobbit."

"Hey!" Christine retorted but Meg had already left the room to try on her dress. "Pffft, hobbit. I am _well_ over the nominated height of a hobbit."

She flopped on their well-worn couch to wait for Meg's return. It wasn't long in coming and she cheered at the sight. "Looking good my friend!"

Meg had chosen a light blue, strapless and full length number that, in Christine's clearly unbiased opinion, made her look like a goddess. Her friend laughed and twirled around.

"Tomorrow night is going to be fun!"

A knock on the door at a few minutes before seven sent Meg into overdrive, running to her bedroom for her bag and shoes demanding that they wait for her. Christine opened the door to let Richard in.

"Meg has just got to make sure she's got everything," she explained, "she'll be two seconds, or so she says."

"In boy time or girl time?" he asked and upon seeing Christine's apologetic face he laughed, "I was just joking. Take all the time you need, its fine!"

"You're looking good," Christine smiled at her friend, and it was true. A tuxedo suited Richard and she would even go so far as to admit that he looked rather dashing in the black and white get-up, "spiffy, even."

"You're looking pretty spiffy yourself," he smiled, "purple suits you."

"Meg'd be pleased to hear that," she waved off the compliment, "she chose the dress. Meg! Are we going or are we spending the night here instead?"

A string of curses was her reply until a moment later the blonde-haired girl bounded out of her bedroom and into the living room. "Nice outfit, Richard," she complimented, holding up her purse, "okay, everything is in here, don't let me lose it. Shall we go?"

They bundled out the door, Christine telling her friend she was not going to be held responsible if Meg lost her purse and they bickered all the way down the steps until they reached the car – and the man standing with the door open to the car.

"A chauffeur?" Meg asked, blinking in amazement. "And yes, I do believe that is a limo. I've officially gone to heaven."

Christine patted Richard on the shoulder. "You've made her year, Richard. Nice work."

"I try." he grinned in response, helping the girls into the car as the driver held the door open.

* * *

The limo dropped them off at the front of an old warehouse, its sides still bearing the faded insignia of a long-gone company called Johnston and Co. It was set off from the main road, a fair drive from Christine and Meg's apartment, in an area that had clearly been considered industrial at one point in time. Christine suspected that the street was usually pretty vacant during the day but tonight there was traffic, and people, everywhere.

It wasn't an area of town that Christine knew well and she was surprised that such a location had been chosen.

"This is it?" Meg asked after the driver had helped her out. The disappointment in her voice was palpable but Christine could understand why.

Richard laughed as the limo drove off, shepherding the two ladies past slower moving guests to the entrance. "Do not judge until you have seen the inside, yes?"

He handed over their passes to one of the two guards at the door and within seconds they were waved through.

They entered a hallway which held facilities for a coat room and a bag check, both of which had a few people lined up at their counters. None of their party had opted to wear a coat, and their purses were able to be carried or worn with ease. At the end of the hallway was the entrance to main area, a set of double doors had been hooked open to reveal a grand staircase. Christine felt a bit out of place walking down the stairs.

"Okay," Meg conceded, "I am impressed. This is pretty amazing."

Christine merely nodded her approval. The warehouse hadn't looked as big from the outside but inside, she estimated it to be perhaps as big as a football field width wise and perhaps as big length wise as well. None of the original equipment that would have once occupied the floor remained and it had been clearly done up with new floorboards, up to date lighting and some pretty fantastic facilities.

"They go all out when they put these things on," Richard smiled and waved to someone who passed them, "so you ought to be impressed!"

Christine surveyed the room. There was a seating area to the left, with massive round tables and seating. Richard had explained in the car that the evening was designed not to be a sit down dinner, rather an opportunity for people to get together and mingle, chat, dance, drink or eat as they pleased. Half of the far wall had been converted into a bar and the resulting right half of the room was reserved, she imagined, for dancing. There was a stage against the far right wall with a five piece jazz band already playing.

"And this is Christine Day," Richard's voice brought her back to reality, "Christine, this is Michael Arnold. He works at the same law firm as me."

Michael Arnold was a man in what she guessed was his fifties. He was slightly greying but still bore traces of what would have been a very handsome face in his youth. "Pleasure to meet you," they said at the same time and laughed.

He shook her hand. "I have news that would interest you, as well, Richard here, I understand, Miss Day."

"Christine, please," she corrected, the only person who consistently called her Miss Day was Destler and it wasn't a particularly nice comparison, "and I'm not sure I understand?"

"Richard tells me you're Destler's new Graphic Designer," Michael explained, "and I was just about to tell my friend that Destler has actually deigned to come this evening."

"Destler's here?" Richard repeated, but Michael had been caught by another one of his acquaintances.

Christine glanced curiously around the room, unable to see the man through the amount of people. "Really? That's news worthy? I mean, I know Destler has a rather self-inflated ego but I really didn't think he was actually that popular."

"No," Richard said, "it's just that, well, it's astounding because Destler almost never comes to these things. I mean, I could count on one hand alone how many times I've seen him at an organised function like this."

"Well, I guess that's no surprise," Christine shrugged and upon seeing Meg's confused face she explained, "well, I can't imagine it'd be particularly easy to attend a gathering with a mask on your face."

Richard made a disbelieving noise. "I'm still not convinced he doesn't just wear it for show."

"What other reason would there be?" Meg queried. "Unless he's hideously deformed?"

"Stop it you two," Christine said, "whatever reason he wears the mask is his own."

"Oh come on," Meg waved it off, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively; "you can't say you're not the tiniest bit curious about what's underneath?"

"No," she said firmly but the sternness was ruined by the corners of her mouth curling up, "and stop wiggling your eyebrows, it makes you look sleazy."

"Yeah, but it makes you laugh!"

"I just wonder why he decided to come this time," Richard said, a frown on his face.

"Oh, who knows what goes on in the mind of Destler!" Christine was keen to enjoy herself, not spend the entire evening discussing a man she had to deal with during the week. "Now. To important things because I believe Meg may be ready to mutiny if we don't get to the alcohol!"

"Amen!" Meg cried in response and Richard had to laugh. Delving through the crowd, they made their way across the room to the bar.

* * *

"Oh, I'm not dancing."

There was a moment of silence and Meg had to withhold the urge to laugh at Richard's clearly disappointed face. "I wouldn't take it personally, Richard," Meg explained, "Christine might have had one bad experience when she first tried to dance and has since let that scare her off dancing forever."

They were seated at one of the round tables, the other spaces filled out with other members of the firm Richard worked with. They had been introduced to everyone but Christine was hard pressed to remember who was who and she hoped that she wouldn't have to remember names and would be able to converse merely by smiling and laughing.

"It wasn't just a bad experience," Christine muttered, "it was a horrible experience. Traumatic. Embarrassing. A life-_scarring_ experience."

Meg laughed. "Stop it! It wasn't that bad and you know it!"

"Coming from the person to which dancing comes naturally," Christine retorted, swirling the ice in her drink, "but the point remains. I'm not dancing. Why don't you get up and dance with Richard, Meg?"

Richard promptly stood up and held out his hand for Meg. "Come on, we'll show her how much fun dancing can be. And while we're at it, you can tell me about this experience that she suffered so we can laugh at her expense."

No complaint was made by Meg as she eagerly stood up to be led out on to the dance floor.

"Don't you dare tell him!" Christine called but neither party answered her as they disappeared in amongst the other couples.

The woman to her side (Stacy? Sandy?) pulled her into a conversation regarding the basics of her job and she was grateful to have someone to talk to.

* * *

Not for the first time since he arrived, he wondered why he bothered to come.

It's not that he was uncomfortable in public gatherings with the mask – or rather, that is something he'd never admit to, ever – because the mask was something he had dealt with all his life. It was simply that there was no _purpose_ to attending these functions. His business did well merely because he was good at his job, not because he could cosy up to people and make friends.

He had ignored Nadir's curious expression after he had asked the man to RSVP at the last minute, unable to explain to the man why he had decided to go along.

Ultimately he put it down to business. After all, it didn't hurt to at least pretend to play chummy with associates and it was better than admitting that he had only decided to come because his argumentative Graphic Designer had said she might see him there.

Because that certainly was _not_ the reason he was currently standing next to the bar, a drink in his hand and a scowl on his face.

He had spotted her through the crowd earlier, standing between a blonde-haired girl and a man. The man he was acquainted with – Richard De Changy, his lawyer – but he assumed that the girl was the room-mate Nadir had mentioned. He had already guessed upon Christine telling him she was invited that Richard had been the one to procure the tickets. The man was a fairly competent lawyer, if a little unremarkable, but of no serious consequence.

Nadir had agreed to come along to the evening as well and had run off and although there were plenty of people who could talk to in the vicinity, he didn't particularly feel like dealing with morons.

Spotting Christine leaving her table and making her way to the bar, he decided that there would at least be one person in the room who would give him a run for his money.

"Dancing not your idea of enjoyment, Miss Day?"

The woman in question turned around from ordering her drink. "To be frank, Mr Destler, I'd rather gouge my eyeballs out with a spork."

The corner of his mouth turned up despite himself. He studied her as she stood there, sipping her drink. She was clearly wearing heels because she almost reached his shoulder, but the dress did her justice and he liked the fact that she wasn't weighed down by a ridiculous amount of jellewery. Thanking the man for the drink, she walked with him to the edges of the dancing floor where other people were standing and mingling.

"It seems a little pointless to come to a Ball if you do not wish to dance."

"I came for the company," she replied, motioning out in the throng of people, "Meg lives to dance and she was eager to come. Besides, I don't see you dancing."

"Touché," he agreed, "so you didn't come solely for the free food or alcohol, I take it?"

"Oh, that was definitely an inducement," she nodded, a serious look on her face, "mostly the food, to tell you the truth. I get rather obnoxious when I drink."

"I'm not entirely sure it's possible for you to get _more_ obnoxious, Miss Day."

"Ha-ha!" she replied, rolling her eyes. "Very droll, Mr Destler. And why did you come this evening? The prospect of tormenting unsuspecting civilians? A chance to terrorise business rivals?"

"Ah, not so on both accounts," he replied, placing his hands behind his back. Although Christine had clearly been drinking it either hadn't been terribly much or she held herself quite well despite it, "because, unlike you, Miss Day, I don't have a decidedly negative prejudice towards dancing."

"It's not a prejudice," Christine countered, "it's merely a well formulated opinion based on a factual negative experience. Dancing causes more harm than enjoyment."

"You are insane."

"So I've been told," she replied, beaming at him. A waiter appeared at her side to take away her empty glass and she thanked him as she placed it on his tray. "But that doesn't change the fact that people have _died_ from dancing."

"Come, Miss Day," he said abruptly, "perhaps I can convince you that dancing is not as horrible as you think."

"No offence, Mr Destler," she replied with a dubious look on her face, "but you might be overestimating your persuasion abilities a little too much."

He simply stood there with his hand out and he knew that despite the fact that she loathed dancing, despite the fact that it was completely inappropriate for her to be dancing with someone who was, for the most part, her Boss and despite the fact that she didn't even actually _like_ him, she would take it.

A moment later, a rather resigned look on her face, she put her hand in his and he led her out onto the floor.

"Now that you've dragged me out here," the woman said, tentatively putting one hand on his shoulder while the other remained in his hand, "you're not entitled to complain when I step on your feet or cause you other embarrassment."

She flinched slightly when he put his hand on her waist. "Dancing is really quite easy, Miss Day."

"Yeah, yeah," she waved it off, "Meg has been telling me that for years. Of _course_ it's easy when you've been taking ballet classes ever since you were knee high to a grasshopper."

"Perhaps if you quit your whinging, I would be able to _show_ you how to dance?" he queried.

"Fine," she sulked, "although I happen to like whinging."

"As you've already displayed. Now, no, do not look down at your feet, Miss Day," he said, "it will only cause you to stumble. Merely follow my lead. I'll step, and then you step and we will go from there."

She glowered at him.

"Is something wrong, Miss Day?"

"Are you this bossy at everything you do, Mr Destler?"

He laughed, negotiating them through two couples. "Only when I know I am right."

"And since you always think you're right," she muttered, "I guess that's a yes."

"You always need to have the last word, don't you?"

"You're only annoyed because you're used to getting the last word in," she retorted, settling her eyes on something just above his shoulder. He got the distinct impression that she was masking her difficulty in dancing – and trusting him to lead her around the dance floor – with something she knew how to do well: argue.

Something he too enjoyed. "Since you seem to have the basics, perhaps I can interest you a twirl?"

"Depends," she replied, dead-pan, "can I interest you in a stiletto heel to one of your feet?"

Despite the look on her face he laughed. "Come on, Miss Day. I didn't think you of all people would back down from a challenge."

"It's not a challenge and the fact remains I am simply not going to twirl."

Deciding not to press his luck – she knew she would come through with her threat of physical violence – they merely continued their waltz in silence.

"Who taught you how to dance?" Christine asked eventually.

"I taught myself," he replied after a moment's silence. That in itself was not an unusual story as he had taught himself most things in life.

"I taught myself how to play the spoons," Christine said tentatively, a small grin on her face, "although not particularly well, I have to admit."

He found himself laughing once again, earning more than a few looks from the couples around him. The band finally wound up its song and they clapped their appreciation as they walked off towards the bar.

"Not too shabby at all, Miss Day."

Obviously knowing a (Destler) compliment when she heard it, she narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "But?"

He raised his hands. "No buts."

"All your compliments come with a but, Mr Destler," she retorted, arms crossed over her chest.

"No buts this time," he replied, a quirk of his lip, "but I wouldn't get used to it."

She snorted derisively. "You don't have to worry about that."

He opened his mouth to reply but the appearance of Khan behind Christine shut his mouth again. Realising that he was no longer looking at her but behind her, the woman turned around. "Oh," she remarked, "Mr Khan."

"Miss Day," the man did a little half-bow, "I do apologise. I always seem to be interrupting but I was wondering if I could steal Mr Destler away from the conversation."

"What seems to be the problem, Nadir?" he questioned.

"Mr Graham wishes to speak to you about the, ah, deal that you two have been talking about," Nadir said carefully, "he will be going home soon and I thought now might be the perfect opportunity."

"Indeed," he murmured, calculating whether it would be worth it to blow off Graham in favour of making him wait one more day. He decided it would probably cause more problems than solve them, "apologies, Miss Day. I must take my leave."

"No worries," she shrugged, "hope your meeting goes well."

The two men left, Nadir leading Destler towards the seated section. If he had looked back, he would have seen Christine looking after them curiously before making her way back to her own table.

* * *

"And you said you didn't dance!"

Christine turned in her seat to find Richard standing before her, his face the picture of amusement. The tone didn't quite match the expression but she couldn't put her finger on what was wrong with it.

"I don't," she answered, still bewildered herself, "really, I never do dance. I guess you just don't say no to Erik Destler."

"Well, now you've shown how well you can dance, you're absolutely required to accompany me on the dance floor!"

"But of course," she replied graciously, knowing she couldn't very well dance with Destler and not the man who had invited her in the first place. She took his hand and followed him out amongst the other couples. They were silent for a moment, Christine replaying the interaction with Destler. He had looked good in his tux, yes, and there was no doubt that he could be charming when he wanted to be but she still couldn't understand why she had agreed to dance with him, of all people!

"You needn't worry," Richard interrupted her thoughts and she brought her attention back to him, "Meg refused to spill a word about your first foray into dancing."

"That doesn't surprise me," she smiled, "because I know far worse things about her. She knows only too well if she spills about me, I'll be able to do the same to her."

"The joys of a best friend!"

"It's a perk, I'll agree," she laughed, "the people you work with seem really nice," she said conversationally.

"You sound surprised! Yes, they are a pretty nice bunch. I was really lucky in that regard. I've worked at other firms and the people have been horrible." Richard replied. "But everyone seems to get along and I haven't come across anyone I hate quite yet."

They continued the rest of the dance talking about their jobs and the Christine commenting on the people she had met so far in the evening. Richard, she had found, was remarkably easy to talk to and had that ability to draw you into a conversation and keep it going regardless of how well, or how little, he knew you. Before she knew it he moving her through another dance and she found herself thinking that she had come into the evening with low expectations but had been pleasantly surprised.

She was really quite enjoying herself!

* * *

"Did you want to go home?"

Christine started, looking at the man sitting next to her with confusion. "Sorry? I must have spaced out for a moment."

"It's just you look like you're ready to go home."

"No, no!" she protested, and in truth she wasn't. "I'm fine; I was just having a moment of introspection. I'm fine to stay. You may be even able to convince me to show you my version of the chicken dance, shortly."

"You might be," another voice interrupted them, and to her surprise she found it was Nadir guiding Meg back to their table, "but your friend isn't looking so well."

Christine knew precisely what the look on Meg's face meant. "Oh no," she sighed, "I think we may need a bucket soon."

"I'm fine!" Meg replied in her defence but the words were a little slurred.

"So, it's time to go home then?"

"I am sorry, Richard," Christine apologised, taking her friend's arm, "but I know precisely what Meg is like and if we stay, well, it won't be pretty."

"Really, I'm fine!" Meg tried again but no-one was listening to her.

"Thank you, Mr Khan," Christine said to the man who was just about to walk off, "I thought she was dancing with one of Richard's associates."

Nadir stood there, an uncomfortable look on his face. "Yes, well, she was."

The silence grew. "And?" she queried, not liking where the conversation was going.

"That dance must have finished – I was just walking over to the bar when your friend stopped me to, ah, have a chat."

"In other words," she said, seeing where the man was going, "she accosted you and then proceeded to insult you in retaliation for what happened just after I got Destler's job?"

Nadir nodded. "That would just about sum it up, yes. It's of no consequence to me, I can understand she wasn't happy with the way you were treated and it's her job to stick up for you but she was getting louder and the insults weren't making much sense. That's why I convinced her to come back over here; I believe it might be time she went home."

Christine glanced over to her friend who was trying to persuade Richard to let them stay longer and smiled slightly. "Yes, unfortunately I suspect you're right. Thank you again, Mr Khan. I appreciate your concern."

He merely did his half-bow again, and took his leave.

"It is _definitely_ time to go," Richard murmured when Christine returned to them, "help me walk her out to the car?"

* * *

"I just don't think I can ever apologise enough for this, Richard."

They had finally reached the apartment after two pit stops along the way to let Meg vomit in the bushes. Meg didn't drink very often but when she did, she went hard.

Richard smiled slightly. "Just as long as she is okay."

He helped her half carry, half drag the intoxicated woman to the bathroom. Settling her down near the toilet, Christine told her friend she was just going to see their guest to the door and be back. Meg merely waved her hand half-heartedly before resting her against the wall and moaning pathetically.

Christine walked him to the door. "Thanks for a fantastic evening, Richard," she smiled at the man, "the ending wasn't so fabulous, I know, but everything else was great. I had a lovely time."

Richard opened his mouth to reply but there was a loud crash, which sounded suspiciously like the toilet seat coming down followed by a yelp of pain and an inaudible yell.

"I better go make sure she hasn't drowned herself in the toilet," Christine winced, "thanks again. I'll call you tomorrow? I'll make Meg apologise for herself when she's feeling better."

Clearly disappointed but understanding the situation nevertheless, Richard sighed. "That'd be great. I'll talk to you soon, Christine."

* * *

Hope you all enjoyed!

Free maltesers for all who took the time to read. :)


	9. Chapter 9

Holy crap! Don't run away in fear, it's just another update!

It goes without saying that I thank each person who took the time to review. You're all lovely, informative and pretty fantastic! :D

If you don't mind, I'd love to hear what you think about this one...

* * *

"Good morning!" she cried cheerfully, pulling the cord on the blind and letting sunlight spill into the room.

Christine's reply was a muted groan from somewhere in the mass of sheets and pillows on the bed.

"Although it's a little like good afternoon," Christine corrected, wrestling with the clutch on the window and eventually pulling it open. "And it smells like death in here, Meg. How can you stand it?"

"I was sleeping," came the irritated reply.

"That's really no excuse for smelliness."

"Christine," Meg said, her head eventually popping out from underneath the doona to grace her friend with an unimpressed look, "I love you. I cherish you. You're my favourite person in the whole world aside from my mother but I swear to God if you don't bugger off right now I'm going to push you out that window."

But her friend merely laughed, ripping the doona off her friend despite the loud protests and dragging it with her as she exited the room. "Just remember, I'm doing you a favour!" she called cheerfully.

Huddled in the middle of her bed amidst her pillows, Meg rather thought Christine's favours were bullshit. But she couldn't remain in bed without the doona to shield her from the sunlight and since she couldn't be bothered to deal with the blinds, she rolled off the bed and onto her feet and made her way out of the room.

"I guess I ought to apologise to Richard," she moaned as she collapsed onto one of the sofas in the lounge room, "and please, remind me never to drink again."

Christine, who was preparing lunch in the kitchen, raised her eyebrows. "You say that after every big night."

"And after every big night, I mean it," was Meg's response, as she stared up at the ceiling, "so why does it seem like such a good idea at the time?"

Her friend laughed. "Did you want a sandwich?"

"I might, but my stomach doesn't."

"I'll take that as a no, then," she said as she put the rest of the tomato in the fridge, "and yes, you ought to apologise to Richard. I called him this morning but his phone was off so I left a message. When he calls back, you're apologising no matter if I have to wake you up to do it."

Meg's replied was merely a groan and Christine could see her friend's arm as she waved in her general direction. She took that to mean acquiescence and carried on with her sandwich.

"Don't you have a rehearsal session tomorrow?"

"Tuesday," Meg replied, "and thank god for that. Jumping around everywhere with my stomach at the moment would not have been pretty."

"So that means it's what, another three weeks until the big night?"

"Three long, torturous weeks filled with nothing but rehearsal after rehearsal after rehearsal," Meg intoned.

"Ah, cut it out," Christine laughed, "I know there's nothing you love more than preparing for a show."

* * *

Sunday came and went, and despite a further two calls to his cell she got the same message every time.

"_You've reached the message bank of Richard Channel. I'm currently unavailable but if you wish to leave your name, number and a short message I shall get back to you as soon as I can."_

Although she'd never admit it, she was concerned that Richard had taken offence to Meg's behaviour and was refusing to call back on this basis. It was a ridiculous thought, especially considering she had been guilty on more than one occasion of either forgetting to take her mobile with her when she went somewhere or simply not charging it when it ran out of battery.

And she couldn't quite figure out why it mattered so much that she talk to him, or to get Meg to apologise for her actions. Because it wasn't as if Meg had done something completely inappropriate like vomit all over him or vomit in the car. In fact, in that regard, Christine thought Meg had been rather good considering the situation she was in. She was putting too much thought into it and it bothered her as to why.

Before she went to bed Sunday night, Meg's head poked into her study. "Still no answer?"

"Not so far," Christine shook her head, as she swivelled on the chair to face the doorway, "he's phone is still turned off. It doesn't matter, I left a message and he'll get it when he turns it back on.

A worried look crept over her friend's face. "I'm sorry, Christine, I didn't mean to mess up things between you and Richard."

"Nonsense," Christine laughed, "you can't have messed up things because there is nothing to mess up. For the last time, Meg, we're just friends!"

Meg merely shook her head as she closed the door.

* * *

In fact, it wasn't until Monday afternoon that she heard from Richard. Meg had given up waiting on him to call and had instead left a humorous message on his voicemail that included an apology in serenade form to the tune of Barry White's 'Can't Get Enough of Your Love'. (Christine had laughed all the way through it, until tears appeared at the corners of her eyes and she couldn't breathe properly).

Her phone buzzed (she always had it on silent, regardless of what time of the day or night it was) and Richard's name popped up on the screen. "Hey Christine," a voice said, but it was distorted and there was a buzzing sound in the background, "I'm really sorry about not getting back to you but it's been kind of hectic the last two days."

"No worries, Richard – I can barely hear you, the reception not so great where you are?" she asked, voice rising to match the noises in the background.

"Something like that! Look, I have to be super quick. You want to meet up for coffee? I'll be free of this craziness on Thursday."

"Sounds lovely, Richard."

"Excellent, I'll call you back with the details when I get some better reception!"

She couldn't quite stop the pleased grin that spread over her face as she hung up the phone.

* * *

"I thought you might have been a little ... annoyed about the situation on Saturday night," Christine said, as she sat down, "it wasn't exactly the most pleasant end to an otherwise great night."

Richard had suggested a coffee place, a bit down the road from his office, and she had agreed to meet him at 3.00pm. The shop was only half-full and Richard had explained on their walk from his office that while he didn't quite agree with his colleagues that the shop had the best coffee in town, it did provide a pretty excellent beverage regardless.

It was a small building, ground level, and while it was not a place Christine would ever have picked (too perfect; too matching and the prices were bordering on the ridiculous), she could see the charm it would hold to the clientele it catered too – professionals on the run.

"I apologise," was his answer, "I didn't mean to give that impression. I called into work on Sunday and was flat out until late and the same again today – taking personal calls wasn't really an option with this client."

"Well, I still owe you an apology – and Meg too. She wanted to come this morning but thought she still might give you some space for the time being."

Richard laughed, which Christine thought was a pretty good sign that he wasn't holding a grudge. "Don't worry, Meg's apology on my voicemail more than makes up for what happened. That girl is a scream, Christine."

The waitress with their orders interrupted the conversation. "A long black for you, sir," she said with a bright grin as the young woman placed the steaming cup in front of Richard, but her enthusiasm waivered a bit as she placed a mug in front of Christine, "and a hot chocolate for you, ma'am."

As the waitress left, Richard flashed her a grin as he warmed his hands on his cup and she felt all her worries (about what? she tried to ask herself, that the situation would somehow affect their friendship? And why did it matter, since they hadn't seen each other in so many years anyway?) disappear as they eased into a conversation about the night, who they had seen and how much fun it had been.

"I'm still all amazement Destler rocked up," Richard said, raising his eyebrows as he took a sip from his cup, "and so were half the people there. Any idea why he did?"

She got the distinct impression he was trying to tell her something or, in the alternative, get a particular answer from her, but she couldn't quite figure out what he wanted. "It's Destler, Richard," she replied, "who knows why he does what he does."

"Good dancer?" he queried and despite the innocent look over the top of his cup, she thought she heard a measure of something else in the tone.

"Not half bad," she shrugged, "but like everything, he bullied me into it and proceeded to insult me for most of the song."

Richard let it go, laughing at her grumpy expression. "I'd expect nothing less. Regardless, I'm glad you had a good time."

"Yeah," she answered, more to herself than anything, "I really did. I guess it's just been a long time since I've done something like that. I'd forgotten how much I missed just ... having fun."

"This is what happens when you grow up and get a life," Richard commiserated, "you lose a bit of yourself along the way."

"Nah," she grinned, waving it off, "not when you've got friends like Meg to remind you to be ridiculous once in a while."

Richard's phone beeped and he apologised profusely as he wrestled it out of his coat pocket. "I'm so sorry, Christine. This was supposed to be a bit of quiet time but I'm gonna have to get back to the office."

"You don't have to apologise for doing your job," she replied, "as someone who has been there and done that, I can honestly say that I understand."

They walked out the door together and Christine hugged him goodbye with a promise to call her when he was free of whatever case he was working on. ("Perhaps you could come over for a movie night? Don't worry, I'll make sure I pick the DVDs and leave Meg out of the whole decision process!") She had walked a few steps in the other direction towards her car when Richard finally made up his mind.

"Christine," he called, and she turned back to him with a questioning look on her face.

"Is something wrong?"

"Not really," he answered, taking the few steps that put him directly in front of her.

"Then what's the –"

And he kissed her.

* * *

Meg stopped at the bottom of the stairs. "You've got gifts for me," she said suspiciously as Christine waved the bag enticingly and presented it to her friend, "which means it's either a bribe or a celebration."

"Can't a friend simply bring another friend a gift without any strings attached?" Christine asked as they wandered down the road together towards her car. After what she termed as 'the incident at the coffee shop' she had driven around for a bit before deciding to go to the only person she knew would give her good, if realistic, advice. Meg finished her night rehearsals at 6.30pm, and she was ready and waiting at the building by 6.20pm.

She had dropped by at a nearby (and well used by both girls) fast food shop, ignoring the call of greasy chips for something remarkably more healthy. Meg was not a complete nazi when it came to eating healthy but she still got picky in the couple of weeks before a performance.

They got in the car and as Christine pulled off the kerb, Meg rummaged through the bag and came up with her present (chicken and avocado sandwich, complete with pickles, much to Christine's disgust). "This is definitely a bribe. What's the deal?"

"It's not a bribe," Christine reassured her friend, "and you're not eating in the car. Put it back, I don't want pickle everywhere."

"Pickle-nazi," Meg muttered, but left the sandwich in the bag, "so what's the deal? This is a bribe, it's healthy, you bought it for me and it's even got pickles on it."

"Just wait until we get home," Christine had said, turning at a set of lights a little too quickly and sending Meg sliding into the door.

"If we ever make it home alive!" Meg retorted, grabbing onto the handle about her head.

Christine merely laughed, and the next ten minutes were spent in comfortable silence. They finally reached their apartment and as Christine parked and shut down the car, Meg went inside to get plates and utensils for their dinner.

"Okay," Meg said as they both were finally seated at the table, "spill the beans, my friend."

There was a moment of silence as Christine wondered how the best way to go about describing the incident. Deciding there was really no good way to do it, she simply burst out: "Richard kissed me and then I kind of might have done something stupid."

"Like?"

"I might have run away."

Meg's only reply was to burst out laughing.

"I'm _so_ glad this amuses you," Christine said, folding her arms and levelling the woman with a stare.

"I'm laughing with you," Meg amended, and continued at the disbelieving look on her friend's face, "really, I am! But I have to admit, I kind of expected you to do something once he finally decided to make his move."

"Some forewarning would have been nice, yeah?"

"Hey, I tried. It's not my fault you didn't believe me." They lapsed into silence, broken only by Meg's chewing. "Did you really just up and run away instantly after?"

"I said thanks before I took off," the other woman defended and despite herself, had to smile at Meg's chuckle.

"What are you going to do now?"

"Can I ignore it and hope I never have to deal with it again?"

"Is that what you really want to do?"

"I don't know," Christine shrugged hopelessly, "what should I do?"

"Give it day to settle," Meg said sagely, "and then he will either call you or you should call him."

* * *

Much to Meg's, and her own disappointment, she fell back on her original plan – ignore it and pretend the whole situation didn't happen. Richard didn't call, but Christine suspected that he was merely trying to give her space after what had happened and she didn't quite have the courage to call him. Christine wasn't terribly proud of usual way of dealing with things (pretending as if they never happened and hoping never to deal with the consequences) but it was something she had never managed to change.

Instead her days were filled with work. Not only Destler's file which, at this point, involved nothing more than making phone calls and arguing with various people over prices but also other paperwork for her Boss. Little odds and ends that co-workers had asked her to help with. If she was honest with herself, she was just looking for stuff to do. Perhaps if she was busy enough, she wouldn't have to deal with Richard.

But the thoughts kept rolling around in her head regardless – why was she ignoring him if they go along so well? Their conversations, despite the fact that they hadn't seen each other in so many years, were not stilted or awkward and they had fallen back into an easy friendship. He was a nice guy with a good job and a heart of gold. Why the hell wouldn't she want someone like him kissing her?

"Because you're picky," Meg had called from the kitchen as Christine posed the question, "and you're difficult and you simply cannot settle for anything less than perfect."

"But he's so nice!"

"Precisely!" Meg cried, flourishing a spatula at her friend sitting at the dining room table. "He's nice and calm and perfect and he never argues you with about anything and always takes your side."

"And this is a bad thing?" Christine asked, frowning. "Because I thought they were all the qualities of the elusive perfect man every woman was after."

"Every woman except you," she countered, "because you can't stand someone who always agrees with you. You have to argue about everything."

"I do not!"

"Ladies and gentlemen," Meg proclaimed as she turned back to the frying pan, "there is my point proven!"

"Okay, enough," Christine sighed, "I've had enough of thinking about it and I've become one of those girls who does nothing but talk about boy problems."

Meg shrugged as she dished out the scrambled eggs onto plates. "Well I've already entertained you with my stories; tell me what's happening at work."

"Well," Christine started, "it's probably best described through a series of emails. Let me explain."

**11.15am:**

_Miss Day,_

_It has been some time since I last heard from you._

_Please give me an update as to the situation._

_D._

**11.55am:**

_Dear Mr Destler,_

_I apologise for the delay._

_While I have prices for most of the print outlets, unfortunately I am having some problems with a few of the remaining newspapers – more notably some of the ones you expressed the most interest in._

_I am hoping that this will not take long but I'm being stonewalled somewhat._

_I would prefer to give you the complete list in its final form but if you want, I can give you the draft list now._

_Yours faithfully,_

_Christine Day._

**12.34pm:**

_Miss Day,_

_Perhaps an appointment would be in order._

_I shall see you this Friday at 2.00pm._

_D._

**1.01pm:**

_Dear Mr Destler,_

_Although I am sure I can handle the situation, I will see you Friday._

_Yours faithfully,_

_Christine Day_

"Have fun at that meeting." Meg had laughed at the end of the story. "Cos' he's going grill you like a chicken."

Have fun at that meeting, indeed.

* * *

"Good afternoon," she smiled to the receptionist who merely stared in her direction, as she had done every other time since Christine had started working for Destler. It had become a sort of game, to see whether she could get any other reaction from the woman, but so far she had been unsuccessful.

She lowered herself into one of the chairs, wondering whether today would be a long or short wait. Destler seemed to wavier between putting her off and making her wait and dealing with her quickly to get rid of her. She got out her diary from her folder, flicking through it aimless.

"Ah, Miss Day!" a voice called, and Mr Khan was at the doorway leading her out of reception and further into the building, "please, please, come this way. Mr Destler is busy at the moment but you may wait in his office. But he said that the usual rules apply – I assume you know what that means?"

"_And it goes without saying, Miss Day: do not touch anything."_

"Yes, I am familiar with the rules," a smile curving at her lips as she followed him out of reception and into the main office area.

"Then please, come this way," he said gesturing.

She nodded slowly, glancing at the man's ever-so-polite face. Not that she didn't appreciate being able to wait in Destler's office rather than the depressing waiting room, she got the distinct impression she was being herded into the office for a reason. "Is something the matter, Mr Khan?" she queried.

She saw the flash of alarm on his face before he could hide it. "This is Mr Destler's building, Miss Day," he laughed, but it was nervous and his hand twitched as he gestured towards the office, "so something is always happening. But if you would please, Miss Day?"

Eventually she followed him as he hurried towards Destler's office. But as they made their way there, muted voices were heard over the general buzz of an office. Almost automatically she turned her head to peer down one of the hallway and instantly stopped at what she saw. Destler and, of all people Richard, were involved in a heated conversation. She couldn't quite make out the words but Destler was clearly angry, his finger pointed in the other man's chest.

She stopped. "Is that the problem, Mr Khan?" and she gestured to the scene.

The man's face dropped. "Into the office, please, Miss Day," he said quietly, "and, for the love of all things holy, do not mention anything when he comes back."

Patience was never one of her strongest virtues and it was being put to the test. She appreciated Destler's need to make her wait – or even the fact that he had other (perhaps more pressing, if the scene she had witness before was anything to go by,) matters to attend to but waiting almost an hour and quarter to see him was simply ridiculous.

At the forty minute mark she had popped her head out the door and, seeing that the coast was clear, she had made her way back to reception to ask whether it would be better to simply reschedule. After a moment on the phone, the receptionist had told her that 'Mr Destler will not be too much longer. Please go back to his office to wait' and she had no choice but to traipse back and re-seat herself at one of the chairs.

She was seriously considering jimmying one of his drawers open, just to see his face as he walked back into his office to witness her rummaging through his stuff, when a voice spoke at the door way. "My office seems remarkably in order, Miss Day; you must have done a marvellous job of putting everything back after you went through my belongings with a fine tooth comb."

"I _was _considering jimmying open one of your drawers," she retorted as he closed the door and sat himself at the desk, "but screwdrivers leave marks."

"I apologise about the wait, Miss Day," he said, arms crossed on the desk, "I did not intentionally mean to waste your time but a pressing matter arose and I needed to attend to it."

Khan's words came back to her, his face alarmed and words urgent, and although the words were on the tip of her tongue ("Precisely what was so pressing you made me wait almost an hour and a half?") she let go of her curiosity and instead appreciated that he had, at least, apologised for the delay.

"These things happen," she said instead, offering a patient smile as she pulled out her folder.

"Did you have a pleasant evening on Saturday?" he queried.

She looked up in surprise. She had assumed they wouldn't discuss the evening. "I really did, actually. And yourself?"

"It was ... better than expected," he said, "although my expectations were remarkably low, so I suppose that's not exactly a ringing endorsement."

"Ever the optimist, Mr Destler. Did you manage to bully anyone else into dancing after I managed to make my escape?"

He smiled at her. "Nonsense, Miss Day. I was nothing but a gentleman," he ignored her disbelieving snort, "shall we get to it? I got your email and thought it may be best to see you in person."

"An appointment really wasn't necessary."

"You said there were problems."

"Minor problems."

"You're stalling, Miss Day. Precisely what is the issue?

"It's nothing major," she repeated, a frown on her face, "and I've got good prices for most of the outlets you wanted. It's just that ..."

"That?" he prompted.

She sighed. "The National is giving me some grief."

"And by grief you mean?"

"They're screwing me around with prices," she said frankly, landing her folder down on the desk with a thump, "and I'm annoyed because I know that they don't usually charge that much and they're simply bumping it up because of who you are."

"And you're surprised?"

She gave him a look. "Of course not. I had the same deal from 90% of the outlets but I eventually talked them back down to something reasonable. The National won't budge, because they think they think they're better than the other newspapers and that you'll just pay the money."

"This is not such a big deal," he said, a bemused expression on his face, "when I got your emailed, I assumed something akin to the worst. Why do you think this is such a major problem?"

"Because I can always talk them down!" she replied, instantaneously. "And it's the principle of the matter – I've dealt with them before so they're well aware that I know how much they usually charge and yet they're still being difficult!"

"I think you might be taking this a little too personally, Miss Day," he replied, "and you really needn't. Give me their contact details and I will have a little chat to them."

"I can handle it." She insisted.

"Don't worry, I'm well aware you can," he replied, "but I get the feeling your next step from here is probably to go abuse them in person and I don't really want to have to bail you out of the cells at the Court, Miss Day."

"I don't know," she muttered as she scribbled down the number and ripped the piece of paper from her pad, "a swift kick in the nuts and I think they'd be perfectly amendable."

"Be as that may," he smiled, "I shall see what I can do without having to resort to physical violence."

"They're asking about $500.00 more than they ought to be," she added, "so make sure they don't try to screw you over."

Destler outright howled with laughter at her earnest face and was still chuckling as she lasered him with an outrage glare. "Ah," he murmured, "I apologise. But really, Miss Day, precisely how many people do you think have continued to work in any sort of business after screwing me over?"

She paused, her mouth open in retort. She wasn't entirely sure if was being serious or merely trying to be funny.

"Now," he continued on effortlessly, "what about the other selections?"

"Oh, yes," she replied still slightly concerned but rummaging through her pages until she came up with the list, "that's all the other outlets, with the prices for half and full page adverts on weekdays and weekends."

There was a silence.

"You haven't really forced anyone out of the business for screwing you over, have you?"

He merely grinned at her and completely ignored the question. "I'm impressed, Miss Day, in comparison to the last ad run we had these are some very good prices. You must have done some excellent bargaining."

Despite herself, she felt a beam of pride envelope her. "To be fair, the company has done a lot of work with most of the media outlets on the list and they tend to do a good deal for repeat business."

He nodded, still gazing at the sheet.

"If there is another issue like this, Miss Day," he said abruptly, "I would prefer you simply tell me so I may deal with it. While I appreciate you may have excellent bargaining skills, I believe I can be a bit more –"

"Intimidating?" she supplied, trying to suppress the smile.

"– convincing," he continued, raising his eyebrow, "so I will call the National and see what I can arrange."

He picked up his pen, marking certain lines on the piece of paper. "In the meantime, I would appreciate it if you would organise for the ads to start running in these newspapers. Friday, Saturday and Sunday, if you please."

She scanned the list as he gave it to her, giving it a quick look over before placing it back into her folder and zipping it up. "No worries, I'll make sure they go in starting next weekend."

She moved to exit the room when he spoke again. "Thank you, Miss Day, for being patient earlier this afternoon."

"No worries," she replied, slinging her bag over her shoulder but she hesitated a moment before she left, curiosity still killing her as to what he and Richard had been arguing about.

"Something else, Miss Day?"

"No," she said eventually, knowing it was none of her business despite wanting to know regardless, "I'll see you later, Mr Destler."

* * *

Gazing out the window, watching as Christine wandered down the street to her car, he sighed. The delay hadn't been intentional – nor had he liked making her have to wait for such a long period of time – and he thought it was unfortunate that she had witnessed, at the very least, himself and Mr Channel arguing.

He wasn't a good man, by any stretch of the word, and he had come to terms with that a long time ago. So he wasn't entirely sure why it was so important that the woman thought well of him, only that he wanted her to do so. He had been impressed she had reigned in her curiosity and kept her nose out of his business but hoped she would not take up the issue with Channel.

(Not that the boy would talk about anything remotely connected to an open case, if he knew what was good for him).

He suspected that Channel admired Christine and was hoping, despite the years since they had seen each other, that they could regain their friendship – and perhaps something more. While Richard's intentions were clear for everyone to read, and had been displayed at the Ball the week earlier, he wasn't so sure Christine wanted the same thing. Not that she terribly easy to read in that regard. Not that it was any of his business, obviously. And he certainly didn't care either way, really.

What was it to him, the personal life of his Graphic Designer?

But it worried him, still, that she had left the building thinking that at least in that particular situation, he had been the bad guy.

And then he wondered, precisely when did Christine Day's opinion start to matter so much to him?

* * *

Phew. It looks so puny when I format it on this site but that's a solid 12 pages of work right there.

**NEXT:** Christine is forced deal with Richard; Destler and Christine have an argument; various insults are traded by a number of people; Meg parades around on stage and Christine still remains confused over boys.


	10. Chapter 10

Many apologies, the skeleton of this chapter has been sitting on my computer since late last year.

It's a bit short but it's setting up for the next chapter which I thoroughly enjoyed writing.

Again, thanks eternally for all the reviews, alerts, etc. I value your opinion, good or bad!

* * *

"I get the impression you've kind of been avoiding me."

Christine tried to school her expression into something that didn't resemble 'deer in the headlights' but wasn't entirely sure she succeeded. He was absolutely right – she _had_ been avoiding him – but it wasn't something she was prepared to admit. It had been nearly ten days since 'the incident' and for ten days she had been ignoring Meg's constant demands to pick up the phone and call the man involved.

And now he had taken the initiative and showed up at their apartment.

"Of course I haven't been avoiding you!" she replied but she had to withhold the wince at the way her voice rose in the middle of the sentence. Lying wasn't exactly one of her greatest talents. "It's just been a bit ... busy." She finished lamely.

"I see," Richard answered in a way that clearly suggested he didn't believe her, "how about right now? I'm free for lunch. Can I come inside?"

There wasn't any polite way to say no (and she had no ready excuse to suggest why he couldn't come in) so she watched helplessly as he made his way inside the apartment. By the time she had shut the door and stood for a few moments, trying to gather her thoughts, he had seated himself at one of the bar stools at the kitchen bench.

"Want a sandwich?" she asked. If they were going to discuss what had happened, she preferred to be doing something constructive at the same time.

"I'd love a sandwich," he replied, and she busied herself raiding the refrigerator for edible products.

"You have been avoiding me, Christine."

"Avoid is a strong word," she called as she delved into the crisper for salad, "it's more like I neglected to deal with the situation right away."

"I'm pretty sure that amounts to the same thing," he said dryly.

She returned to the bench with an armful of ingredients, busying herself getting everything ready.

"Christine?" he prompted.

She sighed, stopping her movements to look at him. "I'm sorry. I was going to call you, go and see you but every time I thought about it I'd get all confused as to what I was going to say."

"The ever eloquent Christine?" he asked. "I don't believe that. You've always been good with words."

"Not always," she countered, eyeing the ingredients in front of her and deciding which one to cut up first.

Richard slid off the chair and moved into the kitchen area, just as Christine picked up the tomato for slicing. "Put the tomato down, Christine."

"Well yeah," she started, waving the offending object in the air, "but if you want it on your sandwich I'm gonna have to cut it up because I'm pretty sure that you're not going to want the whole thing on –"

He leant down and kissed her.

"I really don't think that was necessary," she said after a moment of silence, "you interrupted my sandwich making."

"It's the only thing that shuts you up when you get started."

"It is not," she mumbled, embarrassed and trying to hide it by returning to the sandwiches.

"I like you, Christine," he said softly, halting her moments by grabbing her hand, "and I enjoy spending time with you. I'd like us to be more than friends. But if you don't want to, that's fine, but I'd prefer to know rather than to hang around waiting for you to make up your mind."

She shot him an apologetic look, opening her mouth and then closing it again when she realised she didn't actually have anything to say.

"I'm sorry," he added, "that may have come out a bit harsh. I just, I guess I don't like not knowing what's going on in my life."

"No, that's only fair. I guess I just thought if I put it off I wouldn't ever have to deal with it." Christine explained. "I do that, sometimes, with problems I don't know how to solve readily."

"I'm not saying we have to rush into anything," Richard said hopefully, "I mean, we can just take it slow, see how things go."

And in that moment, looking up at his hopeful face and thinking about the time they had spent together in the last couple of weeks, she made up her mind. "I'd like that."

"Excellent," Richard positively beamed, "now, shall I help you with these sandwiches?"

* * *

They were seated in the living room, enjoying the sandwiches which had taken twice as long as usual to make with all the laughing and joking going on.

"I saw you at Destler's place," Christine said, picking up the second half of her ham and salad sandwich, "you were arguing with Destler."

A dark expression came over his face and she wondered what exactly they had been fighting about. "Yes," he murmured, "arguing with him is not something I enjoy."

"Arguing with Destler is not something anyone enjoys," Christine laughed, wiping crumbs from her hands to the plate.

"Except that this –" Richard stopped suddenly, despite Christine's enquiring look, "never mind, it's nothing."

"Being his graphic designer is bad enough," she said, "I can only imagine what being his lawyer is like! Are you at his beck and call all the time?"

"Something like that," he grinned, "well, I suppose I better get back to work."

They put their plates on the sink and she walked him to the door. He stood at the doorstep a moment longer. "Is there any chance we could so something this week?"

Christine pondered the question for a moment, trying to remember precisely what she had scheduled for the rest of the week. "Well, I'm going to watch Meg perform on Saturday night. There's still some tickets left if you wanted to come?"

Happy that she was inviting him somewhere, and not to mention to something that was important to her, he immediately agreed. "I'd love to come along. But I can't come to any celebratory drinks after, though. My brother is picking me up early on Sunday and we're heading out to do some fishing."

"I usually don't like to intrude on the first night of a show," Christine said, "most of the time it's just the cast and crew, so that's fine. I didn't know you were a fishing fan."

"Ah well, I'm not really," he started and had to grin at Christine's laugh, "but my brother loves it and I haven't seen him for so long. How can I say no?"

"Family is family," she agreed, "but knowing your brother's tendencies when you were younger, I'd definitely be putting on my life jacket before getting in the boat with him."

"Got it covered," he said with a smile, "I told him the only way I'd agree to go is if I got to steer the boat."

She laughed and leaned against the door way, watching him as he got into his car and drove away.

* * *

Returning home from a couple of hours at the office, she eyeballed the small gray Yaris parked on the street as she parked in the driveway, She had a sneaking suspicion as to who owned it and her suspicions were proved correct as she opened the door to see a familiar figure standing in the kitchen.

"Other mum!" Christine cried, her arms opening as the older woman swept her into a hug. "Where precisely have you been hiding?"

Anne merely smiled her secretive smile. "Here, there, everywhere."

"You're like Batman," Christine complained, "except without the annoying husky voice."

"Nonsense," Anne waved off the complaint, "now, come sit down and tell me what's been going on. I've just put some muffins in the oven and they should be ready in fifteen minutes or so."

Christine silently cheered, Anne's muffins were pretty legendary. They entered the lounge room whereupon Meg's mum bombarded her with questions about what she had been doing since the last time they saw each other.

"Megan tells me you've been dealing with Erik Destler."

"Yeah," she replied, "that's been a fun couple of months, I can tell you."

"But he hasn't fired you."

She shrugged. "Not so far. Guess I just haven't annoyed him enough yet."

"Megan tells me you're actually on quite reasonable terms."

"Is there anything Meg doesn't tell you?" Christine asked, raising her eyebrow.

"I'm just curious," Anne defended. "especially considering it's Destler. He doesn't exactly have the best reputation."

"You know him?" she asked, curious.

"Of him," Anne amended but Christine wasn't so sure the woman was telling the entire truth.

The oven timer beeped, signalling the time was up. "I'm just saying, Christine," Anne said as she stood up to get to the muffins, "please be careful. Destler didn't get where he is by a charming personality and sheer good luck."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked. "And Destler's personality is about as charming as a rock."

"He's dangerous, Christine," Anne called from the kitchen, "so just do your job, get it done fast and get as far away from him as you can."

Christine sat there for a moment longer, contemplating what her surrogate mother had just said. The general consensus of people who had met, and dealt with, Destler was that he was someone not to be trifled with. And although she could see their point of view (she had been blackmailed by the man, after all) she had never really felt scared of the man, regardless of his menacing ways.

But then she smelt the muffins and all thoughts of Destler were gone.

"Your mum is here!" Christine called as the door opened, half a muffin still lying on the plate in front of her.

"You don't say," a voice called back and a few moments later Meg appeared in the kitchen.

"Dress rehearsal?" Christine queried, noticing the leotard.

"Dress rehearsal." She confirmed. "Hey mum, nice to see you."

Mother and daughter hugged, with Anne kissing Meg on the cheek. "Getting excited about Saturday?"

"Excited, nervewrackingly spew-worthy nervous," Meg shrugged, "it's all about the same."

Christine laughed. "Would the offer of a muffin help?"

"Sweet," Meg cried, slipping into the other chair, "Mum, I love it when you come to visit. Can you do it more often?"

"I don't exist solely to cook for you, Megan," the older woman said severely, pointing the wooden spoon she was washing up at her daughter, "you could come visit me once in a while."

"You're always off gallivanting somewhere!" Meg defended.

Christine smiled, content to watch the mother and daughter bicker happily between themselves.

* * *

Richard's office was impressive.

Not Destler impressive, but she imagined that his was probably hard to top. However, she thought she rather preferred Richard's. It was smaller but she liked the light and airy colours and she enjoyed the fact that he had several pictures up on his wall – he and his family, a few awards, his practicing certificate – and that his desk was cluttered with files.

She had called him the day before, asking if he was free for lunch. He apologised, indicating that he was going to eat in, having a short lunch so he could leave early and so she had offered to bring lunch in to him.

"Ignore the mess," he said hurriedly, dumping some folders on the floor next to the desk to clear some space, "it's not usually like this."

"You've seen me at my worst. I'm not going to pass judgment."

Richard grinned, motioning for her to sit at one of the chairs on the other side of the desk. "Now, don't be expecting this every day," Christine warned, "and if you get food poisoning then it's your own fault for eating it."

The man laughed as she busied herself removing plastic containers from one of her bags, setting down one in front of both of them. "You didn't have to do this, Christine. I mean, I don't want you to think that you have to."

"Don't be too grateful, you haven't tasted the food yet."

"Regardless, I really appreciate this."

She shrugged, embarrassed. "I had some time on my hands and it seemed like an appropriate 'I'm sorry I didn't call you back after you kissed me' gesture."

They spent an enjoyable forty minutes making their way through lunch (a variety of caesar salad) followed by cupcakes that Meg had made the day before.

"Thanks, Christine."

"Anytime," she smiled warmly, and stepped on her tip toes to give him a quick kiss, "I'll let you get back to pretending to do some work."

"Get out of it!" he called but he was laughing.

She said farewell to his secretary and made her way out to reception to wait for the elevator. But as the machine pinged to announce its arrival on the required level and the doors shot open, she met a familiar face.

Waiting to exit was none other than Destler.

"Miss Day," and she thought that was the first time she had ever seen him mildly surprised.

"Mr Destler."

"And you are here because?"

"I want to be," she supplied, giving him a smile. If _his_ personal life was none of her business then her personal life was certainly none of his business.

"I see."

"The print run is already for Friday," she said, slipping past him and into the elevator, "so let me know what you think after the weekend."

The elevator doors shut and she was shunted down to ground level.

* * *

Not that Christine would ever consider them _friends_ but she had, in the last couple of weeks, retained an easy manner with Destler that had resulted in no (serious) arguments or downright nastiness. And although it was always difficult to tell tone through electronical means, she rather thought that Destler's email indicated that he was angry with her.

_Miss Day,_

_A meeting is required regarding the problems with the ad run._

_You will be at my office tomorrow at 12.00pm_

_D._

To be fair, one newspaper had messed up the ad run on the Friday but she had called immediately after seeing the problem to make sure that it was rectified for the next two days. As much as she could plan everything down to the last minute dot on the paper, there was always the risk that a third party would mess everything up. But she had sent Destler an email on Friday telling him of the problem and her assurance that she had made sure it would corrected for the following two days.

The response indicated that he wasn't impressed (but she had expected that) and there had been no blatant hostility. He had merely said that he would contact her after the weekend to discuss how the print run had gone.

Her fears were proved correct when she arrived at Destler's building for her appointment on the Tuesday

"You're to go right through, Miss Day," the receptionist said before she had even opened her mouth, "and, well, just be careful. He's in a bit of a bad mood."

And Christine rather thought it was going to be a _very_ pleasant meeting if even the usually silent and surly receptionist was telling her to watch her back. She thanked the woman, took a deep breath and made her way through to Destler's office.

She knocked on the door.

"What?"

"It's Christine Day."

"Enter."

She slipped into the office, shutting the door quietly behind her. She would have liked an easy exit strategy but figured if the man was going to kill her, he wouldn't be able to do it today. There had been too many witnesses see her walk into his office. He was at his desk, his head bent as he wrote something on a pad in front of him.

"Sit."

She did so and it was a minute or two before he finished writing and looked up at her. "So. The problem with the print run. What have you got to say?"

"Well," she said, a little taken aback, "I'm sorry it happened. My directions were clear to the newspaper but someone must have messed up over there. They apologised when I rang up and grilled them on Friday afternoon and have agreed to waive the fee for the Friday ad."

"That's beside the point."

"Yes, I understand that it – "

"I expected better,"

"I'm sorry but – "

"I've paid money for a certain quality of work."

There was a silence. While she could sort of see his point of view, she rather thought he was taking it all a little too far. Yes, as a paying client he had a right to get the best services that she could offer but that's what he _had_ gotten. Moreover, once she had recognised that a problem had occurred in one of the papers she had taken immediate action to make sure it would be rectified.

"I'm really sorry the error occurred, Mr Destler," she said shrugging her shoulders helplessly, "but I'm not really sure what more you want from me. It wasn't an error on my behalf and I made sure that the newspaper was aware of the problem. What more could I do?"

"Your job?" he demanded.

And despite telling herself it was not worth it, that it was childish, irresponsible and completely immature, she couldn't help herself. She snapped.

"So what?" she demanded. "The only reason you called me in here was to chew me out about something that's not my fault? Because – "

" – I wouldn't have to 'chew you out' if you did your job properly –"

" – that's got to be the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard – "

" – in the first place and simply – "

" – I did my job properly? What the hell does that mean! I'm perfectly capable –"

" – perfectly capable? I've no doubt that _monkeys_ could do a better job – "

"Monkeys? What do monkeys have to do with – "

"Enough!"

They glared at each other across the table and in the silence she was amazed at the sheer _childishness_ of the whole situation. Destler was such an intelligent man, despite his moodiness, and although she would never admit it, she had often enjoyed arguing with him. But when he got in one of his moods, it was like trying to deal with a child and inevitably, she was always unable to stop herself from being dragged down to his level.

"This is ridiculous," she stated, dumping everything into her bag, "I can see this is just a useless meeting. Please let me know when you've got a problem I can actually do something about."

She marched out the door, steadfastedly ignoring the curious and wide-eyed looks she received on the way out.

* * *

It _was_ ridiculous, he thought, standing at the window.

True, he _had_ been annoyed (rightly so, too!) about the problem with the print run. He liked perfection and refused to accept anything less than that but he knew that the problem hadn't been caused by Christine and that she had done everything in her power to make sure that it didn't happen again.

And so he couldn't quite say why he'd gotten so unreasonably angry about the whole situation, especially with someone he had increasingly come to respect. It certainly wasn't because he had seen her at Richard Channel's office or because she had refused to explain why she was there.

Because it was becoming increasingly obvious that he enjoyed Christine's company in a way that certainly wasn't professional.

He sat down at his desk and picked up the phone. "Khan, there is something I need you to do..."

* * *

On Saturday evening, Christine and Richard met Anne in the foyer of the theatre and introductions were made. Christine didn't think much of it, merely assuming Anne wouldn't mind that someone else had come along to watch her daughter, but Richard made sure he was on his best behaviour. As the only other constant person in her life, apart from Meg, he figured it would be in his interests to make a good impression.

Although he engaged Anne in conversation (the general; where are you from; what do you do; your daughter is simply marvellous when she's not about to puke in my car), he found it difficult to get anything from the usually cheery Christine.

He shot a questioning look at Anne, tilting his head in Christine's direction to see if the other woman knew anything but all he got was a shrug.

"Is something wrong?" he asked eventually, concerned that she had perhaps regretted inviting him to the night.

"No," she replied instantly, turning to the conversation with an apologetic look on her face, "no, I'm sorry. I just had a blow up with Destler yesterday and it has put me in a bad mood ever since."

"Destler could've put Mother Therese in a bad mood," Richard quipped, putting his arm around her shoulder, "don't let him get you down."

"I know, I know," she smiled at the two of them, "besides, tonight is not about me it's about Meg."

The seating opened early and as some of the first guests there, they made their way down to the front section. "It's a bit of a tradition," Christine explained to Richard as they entered the front row, "ever since she got into ballet. We always said we'd be front and centre cheering her on."

As they sat down and got themselves settled, Richard flicked through the program. "How many times have you guys seen a variety of Swan Lake?"

"Four," both women answered unanimously, and then laughed.

"But to be fair," Anne said, "Swan Lake is my favourite of the performances and I'd never get sick of watching my daughter dance."

The lights dimmed and they settled back to watch the stage.

Watching her friend on stage was always something she enjoyed, not only because she was required to as a friend but simply because Meg was an amazing dancer. It was as if she became another person when she got on stage, flawless, perfect and determined. Christine had high hopes (as she knew Anne did) that Meg would go on to bigger and better things.

"A bunch of roses for the star," Christine grinned at her friend as she presented the flowers at the stage door.

"And they're from all of us," Richard added, "don't let her tell you otherwise."

Christine elbowed him in the stomach but Meg merely laughed. "Thanks guys, I really appreciate you coming along!"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world. You were, of course, fantastic."

"She's my daughter," Anne interjected, "of course she was fantastic."

They all laughed while Meg did a curtsey. "Why thank you!"

"Heading out with the rest of the crew?" Christine asked, motioning to the activity behind the door.

"I am, but I'll be home tonight. You know you guys are always more than welcome to come along."

"What makes you think I want to be out partying to all hours at my age?" Anne asked.

"It's okay, Richard has an early morning tomorrow and the last time I came to one of your after show parties one of the male dancers tried to convince me that he could teach me how to do the splits."

"Oh yeah," Meg nodded, a grin forming on her face, "I remember that. As I recall, it didn't end well."

They waved their farewells to Meg as she thanked them profusely before slipping backstage. Richard and Christine said goodbye to Anne at the edge of the car park. Meg's mother had refused their offers to stay at the apartment and was instead staying at one of the local motels.

"Well, I guess this is goodbye. Thanks for inviting me."

"Thanks for coming, I know it probably wasn't your cup of tea," Christine started.

"It was great – Meg was fantastic. Besides, you clearly enjoyed it and that's all that matters."

He enveloped her in a hug and gave her a quick kiss before getting into his car and driving off home.

She stood there for a moment, a silly grin on her face before laughing at herself and getting into her own car to head home.

* * *

There was a surprise awaiting her when she got home.

Sitting on her doorstep, illuminated by the sensor light she had just triggered, were a bunch of bright yellow sunflowers. She stared at them for a few moments, as if deciding whether they were actually real, before reaching down and scooping them up on her way inside the door. She assumed Richard had sent them but when she was finally able to set everything down and open the card, she was proved decidedly wrong.

It simply read: _Apologies. D_

In the next five seconds, only three thoughts flashed through her mind:

_Good lord, Destler has sent me flowers_, was the first.

_How the hell does he know sunflowers are my favourite flower?_ was the second.

_And what the hell does this mean?_ was the third.

* * *

**NEXT**: we meet Richard's brother; Christine has a startling meeting with Destler; Meg enjoys dancing; Richard is put in a tight spot and Christine wonders how her life suddenly became so interesting.


	11. Chapter 11

And I'm back from the dead yet again with another update!

A special thanks (once again!) to **RedRose102** who gently reminded me that another update was due. :)

* * *

"What's the matter?"

Richard quirked a smile at the woman before him. "How can you tell there's something wrong in the first place?"

"You've sighed at least three times since we walked through the doors," she gave him a grin, "and you've got that universal 'something is up' look on your face. What's wrong?"

Richard had asked to meet her at the cafe near his work and she had readily agreed, consistently enjoying the time she spent with the man. Now, looking at him, with a slightly downtrodden look on his face, she wondered whether the meeting was going to end well.

"You know how I went out fishing with my brother?" he asked, and continued at her nod. "Well, he's decided to hang around town for a bit."

"You're not keen on bunking with your brother?" she asked, raising her eyebrow as she thanked the woman who brought her a hot beverage. (Although privately she kind of resented paying an arm and a leg for a hot chocolate that was neither no better nor worse than she could make herself).

"No!" he said immediately. "As much as we fight, I _do_ love him. But he found out that I was seeing you and he's decided that he simply has to meet you. He wants us to go out for dinner."

"_That's_ your problem?" she asked, amusement creeping on her face. "Good lord, from the expression on your face, I expected nothing but the worst. What's wrong with going out for dinner with your brother?"

They were interrupted by the arrival of Richard's flat white and Christine noted with some amusement that the waitress, the same girl who had served them on the first occasion they had been there, was still distinctly nicer to her male companion than she.

"The fact that it's Philip?" he answered as the girl left. "It's just, every time he decides to invite himself along to dinner with someone that I've been seeing, it's ended badly."

"I'm a big girl, Richard," she said, patting his arm, "don't look so dejected. I'd love for Philip to come along to dinner."

"All right," he conceded, "but you're not allowed to hold it against me if he makes a total ass out of himself."

She grinned, blowing on the top of her mug to cool it. "Wouldn't dream of it, Richard."

* * *

"Did you get my apology?"

His mouth quirked at the startled expression that formed on her face. "I, uh," she started, as she shoved things into her bag, "yes, I did. Thanks, by the way. It wasn't necessary."

They had successfully made it through the entire meeting without the flowers being mentioned and Christine felt awkward now that he had brought it up. She had been content to ignore the issue, accepting his apology in whatever form it took, and had hoped that Destler felt the same. When he had made no mention of it as she entered his office an hour earlier, she thought she was out clear.

Apparently not.

"You deserved it," he said, pushing his chair out and standing up, "I have the unfortunate ability of letting my temper get the better of me."

"You don't say," the woman gave him a wry grin, "I never would have guessed, Mr Destler."

"I do hope the sunflowers were appropriate," he continued, "they seemed more akin to your personality."

"You picked well," she answered honestly; "they're my favourite."

"I'm pleased to hear that. Apologies are not my forte, as you will understand, but you did not deserve to be treated that way."

"Really," she said shrugging, "it's part of my job. I shouldn't have let my temper get the better of me either, it's remarkably unprofessional. We should both shoulder the blame, if you like."

"Nonsense," he waved her off, "I shoulder the full blame and will attempt to reign in my temper from now on."

"Now Mr Destler," she teased, "don't make promises you can't keep."

They shared a smile as she said her goodbyes and Christine was surprised to find herself still smiling as she got in her car.

* * *

In the end, Richard was proved wrong.

Philip and Christine got along like a house on fire and, if there was anything wrong with the night, Richard rather felt that it was they got along _too_ well – he spent most of the night listening to his brother tell the woman funny stories of his teenage years. It was gratifying to know that Philip hadn't scared off another prospective love interest but he had hardly had a chance to speak to Christine all night.

" – and so there he is, passed out on the floor and his friends have left him in only his undies, sprayed him in whipped cream," was what he heard as he entered the conversation again, "the poor bastard didn't live it down for a month."

"Is that why you didn't want whipped cream on your cake the last time we went out?" Christine teased him as he rolled his eyes.

The restaurant had been chosen by Philip and Christine had noted upon entrance that the brothers had much the same tastes when it came to dining out. A little bit self-conscious in her dress, she had made up for her uneasiness in the formal setting by making sure that the night ended with Philip having at least a decent opinion about her.

"I'm sure Christine was more than thrilled to hear you tell every single embarrassing story you have on me, Philip," he sighed, "but I'm sure we can find more interesting things to talk about."

Philip shot Christine a wink as they were interrupted by the main meal. "He's just saying that because he doesn't want me to tell the story of when he was thirteen and – "

" – _yes_, Philip, you're _very_ amusing. How about you stop boring Christine and we talk about something a bit more mature?"

"I've got stories from when Richard was 23; if that's a bit more mature for you, Christine."

Christine wisely held her laughter as Richard berated his brother, turning to her meal of spaghetti bolognaise while the brothers argued between themselves.

"All right, all right," Philip conceded eventually, "so tell me how someone as lovely as you managed to convince my brother to go out with him."

This time Christine did laugh while Richard grumbled good-naturedly. She told him the story of how they had bumped into each other; Richard adding in bits and pieces as he saw fit and the conversation turned around as they all finished their main meal.

"Any chance I can convince you to come to Melbourne and work down there?" Philip asked. "If you managed to charm over Destler, I think you're pretty much equipped to handle anyone."

"As much as I do love Melbourne, I think I may have to turn you down. I'm pretty settled where I am, thanks."

The three talked well into the night, discussing everything from Philip's job to the pets they had once had as kids. The conversation became stilted only once – when the brothers moved on to the topic of their father – and although it was easily glossed over, Christine had to wonder what the deal was there.

Although they were certainly not the last to leave the restaurant, most of the tables were empty by the time they decided to call it a night. Christine saw this as a success, although Philip had teased her on more than one occasion throughout the night there was no outright hostility and he seemed to have taken a liking to her.

The two brothers took care of the bill, no matter how much she protested and attempted to pass over money. "You're a lovely lady, and it is our pleasure to treat you to dinner," Philip said as they escorted her out of the restaurant and out into the street, "your payment is spending an entire night with us and not piking once."

"You _are_ a charmer, aren't you?" Christine said dryly as they wandered towards the car park. "I bet you had fun going out with him to bars when you were younger, Richard."

"Eventually I had to ban him from coming with me," the man responded, "there just wasn't enough room for me, the other patrons, Philip _and_ his ego. It's enormous."

Philip denied all allegations that his ego was as large as his head and wished the couple a good night, getting in his car (something sleek and shiny, Christine noted in appreciation despite the fact she didn't have a clue as to its model) and speeding off into the night. Opening the door for her, Richard informed her that she'd never want to get in a car with his brother – former passengers had gotten whiplash from mere acceleration at a set of lights.

* * *

He turned the engine off as he parked the car in front of her apartment. "Thanks for coming tonight. Even if my brother has a tendency to talk your ear off, I'm glad you two get along."

"Your brother is lovely, Richard," she said shaking her head, "I don't know what you were worried about. I had a lovely time."

"I feel like I didn't get to talk to you at all."

"And funnily enough, I feel like I know you better than I ever did!"

"Philip thinks it's amusing to humiliate me in any way possible," he groaned, "no matter how old I get, he still thinks about twelve years old."

Christine laughed. "Regardless, I think it would be nice to have a brother."

"He's all yours if you want him."

She moved her hand to cover a yawn and apologised as Richard smiled. "I just wish that I could ignore the fact that I have work tomorrow. I know my work doesn't seem very strenuous but dealing with Destler really saps my energy sometimes."

"Sometimes?" Richard echoed. "Every time I have a meeting with him I feel like I've just run a 50km marathon. That man is hard work! Nothing you do is ever good enough for him."

"I know what you mean."

"You don't think he's a bit easier on you, now at least?"

"Hell no!" was the instantaneous reply. "What makes you think that?"

"It's just – " he turned to the woman, who was listening intently, "don't you feel as though Destler treats you differently than anyone else?"

"I don't really have a basis for comparison," she answered, shrugging her shoulders, "apart from you. Besides, we've had some pretty spectacular arguments. I know he likes me more than he did at the beginning of this job, but I'm not sure we'd be what you call bosom friends – or acquaintances."

Richard sighed.

"What's the problem?" Christine asked, curious. "He's just a client and I'm more than sure he'll be glad to see the back end of me when we're finally done."

Although Christine was sure that he was going to say something else, Richard merely gave her a smile and exited the car. Shrugging it off, she exited too and they made their way up to her apartment.

* * *

"You're very enthusiastic over these, Miss Day," Destler said, looking at the beaming woman dubiously, "are you this excited every time you get signs done?"

"Oh come on, it's not in the least bit exciting to see your logo presented in final form where everyone will see it?" she countered.

The samples had arrived and while Christine had been over the moon (rightly so, she had justified to her boss because it was the culmination of considerable work, patience and downright perseverance), Destler had been nothing but bemused about her desire to show them to him right away.

"I believe you may be confusing satisfaction with excitement," was the reply as he rifled through his drawers for something, a frown appearing when it didn't seem to be where he wanted.

"Well as long as you are happy with the samples, I've organised for the contractors to come in next Thursday to put them up."

"_That_ quickly?"

"You want more time?" Christine asked.

"No, I just wasn't aware you could get contractors to do a job so quick," the man answered as he exited his seat and moved to the filing cabinets on the far wall, "if they can come in next week, and they are competent at their job, I see no difficulties. I'll let my staff know what to expect."

"Excellent. Do you want the samples or should I take them with me?" she queried, pulling the covers for the smaller signs out of her bag.

"Leave them by the door, would you?" he called, flipping through files. "I appreciate you expediency with the matter, even if your enthusiasm scares me slightly."

His reply was a laugh and a goodbye as she deposited the signs against the wall and exited the room, unaware her bag was missing one rather important item.

* * *

"Goddamn it," she muttered standing before her car, rummaging around in her bag for the keys, "where are my keys?"

After dumping everything in her bag on the bonnet of her car and then shoving it all back in after no keys were discovered, she resigned herself to the fact that she would have to go back into the building to see if someone had picked them up. Muttering in annoyance, she started back up the footpath to the building.

To her surprise, Destler was standing just outside the glass doors, an amused expression on his face as he slowly held up her car keys into view. "Missing something, Miss Day?"

"Oh, you're enjoying yourself far too much, Mr Destler," she said, narrowing her eyes as she walked to him to get her keys.

He held them just out of her reach. "I was curious as to how long it would take you to realise that you did not have them on you. I've been standing here for close on five minutes."

"You have not," she retorted, refusing to give him the satisfaction of trying to lunge for the metal objects, "now, are you going to give them to me or am I going to have to call the police?"

He handed over the keys with a laugh. "I would expect a little more gratitude, Miss Day."

"Thanks for finding them _and_ bringing them down," she conceded, "although I'm more inclined to believe that you only brought them down because you knew I'd come back up and pester you until they were found."

"Perhaps," shrugged but there was a smile on his face, "and I'm not at all surprised to see that your car is a blinding bright green colour."

She moved closer to the building so the passing pedestrians were not blocked by her. "I'd say more like a natural, pleasing to the eye green but I'm only the one who drives it."

"While the rest of us have to look at it," Destler said, leaning against the wall.

And much to her amusement the conversation continued as they discussed the pros and cons of the various cars they had owned. Although she felt Destler had somewhat warmed to her in the time they had worked together, he had never been particularly chatty.

"So basically you've been through a number of cars, all worth more than my annual pay check, because you have inability to drive well?" she said in disbelief.

"To be honest, I feel as though the number of cars I have been through is a reflection on how badly _other_ car-owners drive. I'm perfectly capable of driving; they merely get in my way."

She laughed, mostly because it was something she expected to hear coming out of his mouth but also because she could hear the teasing tone in his voice. "But of course. I think I will stick to the small cars, not only because they're the only ones in my price range, but because I think spending an exorbitant amount of money on object that goes from a to b is ridiculous."

"So says the person who has never driven a Porsche."

She laughed, startling a man walking past. "Says the person who will _never_ drive a Porsche!"

So into the conversation was Christine, it was some moments before she realised that they had an audience.

Richard stood there with a 'just precisely what is happening here' expression on his face and she instantaneously realised just how odd it must look that Destler was standing outside his own building door, on the street, idly chatting.

"Mr Channel," Destler said before she could make her mouth work properly, "what can we do for you?"

"I was coming to see you, actually," was the reply after a moment's silence as he glanced between the two, "the paperwork from the other side has come in and I knew you wanted to see it urgently."

"Indeed I do," he agreed readily, "shall we go up to my office?"

Richard nodded wordless, and entered the building as Destler gestured with his hand.

"Good day," Destler said to Christine, "do keep a close eye on your keys from now on."

Before she could deliver a suitably nasty retort – or, in the alternative, talk to Richard – they had both disappeared into the building.

* * *

"Don't look so disappointed, Richard," Meg said as she let him through the door, "I'm fairly good company when I'm not vomiting all over the place."

"I never said you weren't!" the man defended, as he followed her into the apartment. "I was just hoping Christine would be home, that's all."

"She's at the office, as far as I know."

"Does she ever answer her phone?"

"Richard, her phone is permanently on silent and she still hasn't quite worked out how to set a background on the thing. What do you think your chances are of getting a return call?" she asked as they reached the kitchen.

Her response was a muted grunt and Meg frowned. "Is something wrong? Her Boss doesn't like personal calls but if it's urgent, I'm sure she won't mind."

"No, nothing like that. I was just hoping to have a chat with her." He noticed the bunch of flowers sitting off to the side on the bench. "Further adulations of your excellence on the stage?"

"Well no," Meg blinked, "they're Christine's. I thought you gave them to her."

"No," he said slowly, "no, I didn't."

They looked at each other, both with the same thought running through their mind: _then who gave them to her?_

"Oh," Meg said in an effort to dispel the tension in the room, "they're probably from her boss for dealing with Destler for so long, right?"

(Privately, however, she was kicking herself for putting her foot in it _and_ cursing Christine for not telling her the truth about who the flowers had come from).

"Sure," the man said, clearly unconvinced, "look, if you see Christine, can you tell her to give me a call?"

"No worries, Richard. Did you want to stay for lunch, see if she comes home early?"

He was silent as he considered the possibility. "I better not; I have to get back to work."

Meg watched him leave the apartment, getting into his car and driving off down the street. Turning to go back inside, she wondered why her friend had lied to her so blatantly when she had never done so before.

* * *

Christine entered her apartment three and a half hours later with the sole intention of sitting on the couch, watching tv and possibly working up enough energy to consider cooking dinner.

She only got to do number one on her list before being accosted by an inquisitive roommate.

"Christine!" Meg said, slipping into the lounge room.

"Hey Meg," her friend smiled flopping on one of the chairs and slipping off her shoes, "I'm just gonna watch some tv, you want to put on a movie or something?"

"Sure," her friend readily agreed, "but first you've got to answer a few questions."

Christine raised her eyebrow at her friend as she rifled through the papers on the coffee table for the remote. "I'm sure we can do both at the same time."

Meg snatched the remote from its position on the two seater near the wall and held it in the air victoriously. "Questions first, tv later."

"I can just go turn it on manually, you know," was the amused reply, "but since it's important enough for you to hold the television hostage, what's up?

The dancer eyed her friend seriously. "Richard was here earlier. He seemed a bit out of sorts."

"And?"

"And he thought the flowers in the kitchen were for me and I thought the flowers were from him to you," was the exasperated reply, as if the answer should have been obvious, "a fact which, by the way, you led me to believe was true. Clearly it isn't."

"I never specifically told you who the flowers were from."

"But you never discouraged the belief they were from Richard. Who are they from?"

"What?" Christine asked. "You think I've got a man on the side?"

"Have you?"

"Oh come on, Meg!" the woman retorted, annoyed that her friend could even consider the possibility. "You know that's not true. If you really must know – and I'm inclined to remind you that I'm not required to tell you _everything_ about my life – they're from Destler. As an apology for being a jerk the other week."

"And if it is no big deal, why didn't you tell me who they were from?"

"They're just flowers, Meg," Christine reasoned, unwilling to explain to her friend her uneasiness with admitting the fact that she had received flowers from a man who could roast an incompetent employee with merely an angry stare, "nothing more, and nothing less."

"I'm sure Richard doesn't feel as though they're _just flowers_."

"Getting flowers from someone else isn't a precursor to having a man on the side," Christine said, her annoyance slowly turning into anger, "if Richard thinks that is the case then perhaps he ought to grow up."

"Perhaps you need to call him and explain the situation then."

"If Richard believes I'm seeing someone else, that's his problem. All I want to do is sit down and watch some tv and not think of anything that has to do with work or boyfriends!"

"Fine!" Meg dropped the remote back on the couch and exited the room.

Christine groaned loudly, lying back in the chair and closing her eyes. Fights were not uncommon between the two friends but they were usually small and insignificant (the last massive fight had been a year and half earlier, the core of the problem being Meg's inability to clean up after herself in the kitchen and Christine finally snapping).

Eventually she would have to make it up to her; apologise for getting snappy and defensive but as she turned on the television first and resolved to at least have an hour of no fights, no flowers, no boyfriends and no Destler.

* * *

"I'm sorry I got so defensive," Christine said, standing in Meg's doorway as the girl lay sprawled out on the bed reading a book.

"They're just stupid flowers," the other girl conceded, closing her book and getting to her feet, "and I was pretending to be angry on Richard's behalf but I was just a little hurt that you hadn't told me the truth. I know you like to have your secrets but I _do_ tell you everything."

Christine's reply was to wrap her friend in a hug and tell her she was taking her out for ice-cream, a suggestion that was always put forward when they argued. Although they nearly always made up quickly when they got into an argument, the argument could be rehashed over ice-cream cones in a far more civilised conversation.

Ten minutes later saw them getting into the car, and as Christine shifted the gears into reverse, Meg couldn't help but add: "You _are_ going to have to call him; you know that, don't you?"

Rolling her eyes and navigating her way out of the driveway she concurred with her friend. "Yes, I'm well aware I'm going to have to call him."

"And it's not like I'm pressuring you or anything, but I kind of like Richard so if you could make up, that'd be great."

Laughing Christine turned the car left at the intersection and told her passenger that she would see what she could do on that account.

* * *

Eventually she did call and they agreed to meet during Richard's lunchtime at Ellis Park, a five minute walk for Richard from his office and a twenty minute drive from Christine's apartment.

"Meg said you seemed out of sorts when you dropped in, is something wrong?" she said as they wandered around the outside of the park. It was a pleasant place, despite the fact it was popular with the mums with younger than school age kids.

"You didn't tell me about the flowers."

"_That's_ what you're mad about?" she asked in disbelief, unwilling to believe that both her best friend and her boyfriend were unreasonably upset about something as stupid as flowers.

"You don't think it is reasonable for me to be even the slightest bit annoyed that you got flowers from another guy?"

"Considering they're from Destler, I think it _is_ a bit unreasonable, yes. They were just an apology for being a jackass. No offense, Richard, but you're kind of making a big deal about nothing."

"It's not just about the flowers!" he erupted, but took a breath and lowered his voice, "look, Destler is not a nice human being and I'm not the only one with that view. He is someone to be avoided at all costs. Everything he does is to benefit him and for no other reason. In other words, he doesn't just send flowers to apologise."

"So what?" she demanded, getting steadily angrier at the man's words despite her intent to enter the conversation with a civil tongue. "He sent them to me for the sole purpose of trying to get into my pants? The man doesn't even like me, Richard!"

"Who sends flowers to a girl they don't like?"

"It was just an apology!"

"Oh for christ sakes, Christine, wake up. The guy is _interested_ in you!"

"Bullshit," she retorted, "and even if that _were_ the case, why is that such a big deal? I'm seeing _you_. What do you think I'm going to do, jump his bones the first chance I get?"

"I think Destler is going to get the wrong idea and you're going to be in a situation you don't know how to get out of. Why must you be so oblivious?"

"Because Destler doesn't like me like that!" she argued as they came around full circle, Christine frustrated that Richard couldn't seem to grasp the material point and Richard angry that Christine had missed the point entirely.

They were interrupted by Richard's ringtone and he answered it curtly. It was clearly a conversation he didn't enjoy and he was frowning as he hung up. "That was the office, something urgent has come up. Damn it, nothing has gone right today."

"Come on," she said gently, understanding that for now, at least, their argument was at a standstill, "I'll drop you back at work. We can talk about this later."

"Nothing has been resolved," he said as they walked back towards the car-park, "and it doesn't look like you're going to change your mind at any time."

"Probably because I don't think I should have to," she retorted and then sighed, "look, let's just put it to the side for the moment, okay? We can deal with it when you're not so busy."

And so the rest of the car ride saw only silence and as Richard got out of the car with a perfunctory 'thanks', Christine wondered how they had gotten to this point – especially when the cause of the argument had been so trivial to begin with.

* * *

She arrived bright and early on Thursday; and he watched as she stumbled out of her car and blinked blearily into the morning sun. While having many qualities, he much suspected that being a morning person was not one of them.

It was a few minutes later and she was shown into his office.

"There was hardly any need for you to arrive this early, Miss Day," he said, hiding a smile as she tried to hide a yawn behind her foam cup, "the men know precisely what they're doing."

"I know," she defended, "but I wanted to make sure. Besides, the smaller signs are going up around the building and I can at least make sure that those are put up properly."

"You're not going to terrorise them, are you?"

He expected a likewise retort, something along the lines of _And you wouldn't?_ or _That's the pot calling the kettle black, don't you think? _but instead all he got was a muted grin. The following conversation for the next ten minutes was much the same and he wondered if it was merely the fact it was early or there was something wrong.

"You seem a bit out of sorts," he ventured eventually, "not that I don't appreciate the fact you're not bouncing off the walls, I confess I've gotten used to a general standard of saccharine cheeriness from you."

There was a moment of hesitation and he knew instantly she was going to lie to him. "I'm not keen to admit it but my cheeriness takes a beating when I'm up this early. I wouldn't worry; I'll be annoyingly chirpy in no time."

He was forced to accept her explanation as the contractors arrived and she disappeared to make sure everything happened according to plan.

It was several hours later, and he was surprised to see she was still hanging around, but a much happier Christine Day entered his office to let him know that the majority of the signs had officially been put up and it had all occurred with the smallest of hiccups.

"I will, of course, inspect for myself later today but at the present I'm willing to take your word for it."

"Thanks," she said dryly, "they're still working on some of the larger ones and if they're not finished by five, they said they would be back tomorrow. I told them to let you know if they finished early so you could inspect before they went."

"Thank you," he replied, "does this mean you're heading home for the day?"

"Pretty much, but one last thing," she said, withdrawing something out of her bag, "when I was going through the order with the supplier, he gave me a catalogue to look through. When I saw it, I thought it was just right for your desk."

She handed it over, complete with bubble wrap, and he unwrapped the object dubiously. Considering the woman had once tried to convince him orange and green were two colours that went together, he was a little concerned as to what he would find inside.

Instead, he found himself pleasantly surprised. It was a nameplate, complete with his name engraved and logo on the side. Simplistic, tasteful and much to his liking, he found himself looking at the woman in wonder.

"What do you think?" she asked, head slightly to one side as she tried to work out his reaction. The gift had been an afterthought, and she had been somewhat uncertain as to whether to give it to him after the fight with Richard. But she had reasoned that it was hardly a personal gift and more like a useful work item and therefore not likely to be taken the wrong way.

"I think it's perfect," was the answer and he was rewarded with the beaming grin once more. "and I thank you, Christine. This will look excellent on my desk."

"No worries," she waved it off, either ignoring the fact that he had used her first name or not realising that fact all, "and so we're basically at the end of the job, Mr Destler. We've got a few administration items to clear up but that will be it."

"I'm pleased to hear that."

"Looking forward to the day you can toast to my disappearance from your life?" she teased as she packed her things.

"I'm ordering the most expensive bottle on the menu." He retorted, moving out from the desk as she stood up. She laughed in response, hauling her bag over her shoulder and moving to open the door.

"Christine."

The smile turned into a curious frown and this time, at least, he knew she recognised the use of her first name. In a few short steps he was towering over her and even though he knew he shouldn't, he knew it was oh-so-wrong and twisted, before she could protest, he had leant down and stolen her mouth for a kiss.

"I do apologise," he murmured as he pulled back, "the mask _does_ make it so much more of a hindrance than it ought to be."

She stared at him, wide-eyed, and he watched her try to process just precisely what had happened.

"I, uh – " she cleared her throat, as she readjusted her bag and looked everywhere else but at him directly, "well, I should probably go."

"Christine," he started but before he could finish she was out the door.

* * *

And another chapter bites the dust; hope you enjoyed.

**NEXT: **we deal with the aftermath of the kiss!


	12. Chapter 12

Holy crap; is that an update? I mean, it's only taken me 10 months! I gotta say this chapter has been through three complete overhauls and I'm still a bit iffy.

For all the people who reviewed and favourited this story, thanks a bunch guys.

Hope it was worth the wait. :)

* * *

"You look like you ran over a puppy. What's the matter?"

Christine hadn't even tried to school her expression into something happier as she heard Meg come in through the door. All she had been doing all afternoon was replying the scene over and over her head, wondering where it had all gone spectacularly wrong and whether she could've done something to prevent it.

"Nothing."

"Yeah, and the fat kid next door is just big-boned. What's the problem?"

"Nothing!"

"Christine, you're lying on the couch at – " there was a brief pause as she looked at the watch on her hand, " – 4.30pm in the afternoon with an expression that'd be more appropriate while watching a Shakespearean tragedy. What. Is. Wrong?"

She lifted herself up on her arms to look pathetically at her friend. "You know those flowers from Destler?"

"Yes," her friend said slowly, lowering herself onto the other couch.

"So maybe they weren't just flowers."

There was a muffled sound from across the room that sounded like an exasperated sigh. "You don't say?"

"Hey, do you want to hear what happened or not?"

"Just tell me!"

"I went in to finish off the signs today," she said, flopping back onto the couch, "and as I was leaving Destler kissed me."

Christine couldn't say that Meg's initial reaction of bursting into laughter was the one she was after.

"Meg! This is a problem! Richard was convinced that Destler liked me and now he's been proven right, how the hell am I going to explain this?"

"You're blowing this way out of proportion, Christine, as you _always_ do. Remember Year Seven when we played Spin the Bottle. You had to give Thomas Fletcher a peck on the cheek and you felt guilty for the entire week because you thought you'd made him cheat on Rebecca Hardy?"

"You know, if you're just going to make me feel worse about my predicament then you can just bugger off," Christine replied but the annoyed tone was ruined by a smile.

"I'm just saying it's not the end of the world. Sure, he kissed you – but did you ask for it? Did you want it? Did you stay there and kiss him some more?"

"Of course I didn't!"

"Then explain it to Richard and he'll understand. And don't do that whole 'let's just see how it goes' thing, okay? You need to explain it to him, it's important."

Although she knew her friend was right, she still didn't want to make the call.

"Was he any good?" Meg's voice called from her room as she started pressing the buttons. "Bet he was!"

"Oh, shut _up_!"

* * *

They met half-way, a small cafe just out of the city called 'Oma's Kitchen'.

Their greeting was awkward, she refused to meet his eyes and he was unsure of whether to hug or kiss her. They sat down in silence, read their menus in silence and ordered as soon as the waitress came around.

Christine was afraid their whole meeting would consist of silence until Richard got up his courage.

"Look," he started off, "I've thought a lot about it and yes, I think you might've been right about my overreaction. I still think that the flowers mean something more than an apology but it was wrong of me to think that you thought otherwise – "

" – you were right," she blurted out, unwilling to let him apologise when he'd been right all along, "about Destler and the flowers, I think you were right."

Richard raised an eyebrow. "Oh really?"

"He kissed me," she said miserably, looking down at the table, "at our last meeting."

"Oh."

"And it's not like I _asked_ for it," she continued on, gazing back up at him "and I got out of there as soon as it happened but you were right, and now ... "

To her amazement, the only expression that spread across his face was a sort of pitying amusement. "What?"

"I'm laughing at you," he quickly amended, "but you just look _so_ miserable about the whole situation. At first I found it hard to believe that you could honestly think flowers were just flowers but your expression is so woeful I know I was wrong."

"They _were_ just flowers," she said defensively.

"I'm sorry, Christine," he said gently, stalling the conversation as the waitress brought them both plates of pasta, "I should have known your intentions were good, you were only trying to be nice to the man."

"I wasn't trying to be nice," she tried to explain, "it wasn't like that. I just thought, I don't know, that perhaps we'd worked up a sort of professional relationship and that maybe he'd come to respect me. It's difficult working in a profession when everyone thinks you're still a kid."

Richard smiled over his food. "You're far from a kid, Christine. And maybe I gotta admire Destler for realising that you're the sort of woman a guy wants in his life. But you're _my_ girlfriend, not his."

She grinned at him.

* * *

"You _did_ it!" the other woman crowed.

Christine raised her eyebrows, leaning back on her chair to view her boss. "Anything in particular? Or should I just assume you're pleased about what a wonderful employee I am?"

Three days after her meeting with Richard she was back at work, trying to get back into a regular routine.

"We got a bonus off Destler," she explained.

Luckily enough the woman was too pleased to take in her concerned expression. She hadn't heard from Destler since the kiss and she'd asked her boss to send through the final invoice, making up some idiotic explanation that Destler would be less inclined to argue about the final tally if it came from someone higher up on the food chain. She'd been expecting some sort of fight over the bill, some petty complaint in order to get it lowered. She certainly hadn't been expecting a bonus.

"A bonus?" she repeated.

Her boss grinned. "He called this morning to thank us personally. Said that you'd earned it. How does that make you feel? Not only did you survive a complete job with Erik Destler _but_ you managed to get more money out of him!"

Her enthusiasm was weak but her boss made up for it.

* * *

A week later found another visitor at the Giry/Day apartment.

She certainly wasn't unwelcome and Christine had always found Anne's ability to pop up in their lives after an absence quite refreshing. She and Meg had been out of Anne's hair for some time now but Christine couldn't deny it was nice having a 'Mum' around the place. It made her feel loved.

"So you've finished with your most recent client, then?" Anne started the conversation as they sat down for dinner. "Complete and done?"

"Meg told you about Destler," she said flatly, shooting her room-mate a stare. Oddly enough Meg was too busy trying to stuff homemade lasagne into her mouth to return the look.

Anne merely shrugged, not concerned by the annoyed look. "She may have mentioned it, yes."

"I appreciate the concern but I _am_ an adult. My problems are mine to deal with."

Her expression must have conveyed some sort of point because the other woman. "I hear you, Christine. Shall we talk about something else then, perhaps? Maybe Meg can take a break from shovelling to offer up some sort of conversation?"

* * *

As the meal ended, Christine followed Anne into the kitchen, carrying the dirty plates. Although she knew she should just let the topic die, she couldn't quite help herself – she remembered what Anne had said when she first found out that her surrogate daughter was working for Erik Destler.

"You said Destler was dangerous," she said pinning the other woman with a stare, "you said I should get through the job as quickly as possible. What did you mean by that?"

"Just precisely what I said. He's not a man to be trifled with. I'm glad your job with him is done."

"You're not telling me something," she said flatly, dumping the plates into the sink, "you wouldn't specifically warn me off working for the man if you didn't have a reason."

Anne merely shrugged. "I only meant what I said, Christine."

"Why won't you tell me?"

"Why does it matter so much to you?" the older woman returned. "You're job is done with him, you'll probably never see him again."

And Anne was more than right – she and Destler certainly didn't run around in the same social circles even if she _did_ want to see him again. She couldn't quite explain why the information was so important to her but she _knew_ that Anne was holding something back.

"Right, Christine?" Anne prompted, and when she met the other woman's eyes she was confused to find concern there. "You're not going to see him again?"

"Of course not," she said quietly, "why would I?"

* * *

"Mr Destler I _do_ apologise but the woman just barged in and she simply wouldn't leave your office!"

Erik stood at the doorway, gazing impassively at one Anne Giry. "It is of no consequence, Emily. You may leave us."

The terrified secretary left immediately and he shut the door behind him as he walked through to his desk. "Anne Giry. I'd like to say I'm surprised but I'm not. To what to I owe this pleasure?"

"Oh, I think you know," the woman replied, a frown set in her features.

"Indulge me."

"Christine Day."

Erik shook his head, taking a seat as he surveyed the irate woman. "And what particularly about Miss Day would you care to chat about?"

"I'm going to say this as a friend – or as the friend I _used_ to be – and I'm only going to say it once. Stay away from her."

"As my friend?" he scoffed. "You're _threatening_ me?"

"I'm giving you a warning, Erik. I suggest you heed it."

He lunged out of his chair, looming over the desk to glare at her. "You don't give _me_ warnings anymore, Anne. You don't have that right!"

"I have _every_ right!" the woman hissed, glaring back.

"Christine Day is an adult, perfectly capable of fighting her own battles. She's not even your child, Anne."

"I consider her to be as much," the woman answered sharply, "and she is bright and happy; what is it exactly that you think you can offer her, Erik? And don't you dare turn this back to the mask. If anyone was going to see through that, it would be Christine."

He snarled, turning away from her and his desk to the window. "It is always about the mask with you, Anne."

"You've _made_ it about the mask. It's consumed you whole and you're more dangerous for it. Do you think she deserves someone like you?"

"And who _does_ she deserve?" he retorted, distaste colouring his tone. "Someone like Richard?"

"Richard isn't likely to lash out because she says the wrong thing or because he's in a bad mood. Richard isn't likely to sink into himself for weeks at a time and refuse to communicate with anyone. Richard isn't likely – "

" – to make her happy," he finished, "you honestly think she deserves someone as boring as him? You think a woman with a mind like that deserves a man like Richard Channel?"

"She deserves to be happy," Anne answered quietly, "and you know as well as I do that's not something you can offer. Don't drag her down into the darkness with you, Erik. If you do have feelings for her, you'll let her go."

"Get the hell out of my office!"

She exited the room at his command, looking back only once to see the man at the window, shoulders hunched as he gazed out at the world.

* * *

And that, as they say, would have been that. The end of the story. But there'd been one mitigating factor.

Fate, if you will.

"A dinner?" Christine read aloud from the piece of cardboard in her hand. "What for?"

She was firmly entrenched on Richard's couch, a bottle of cider on the table beside and she was about as relaxed as someone ought to be on a Friday night. Although she'd visited his place before, she'd never stayed the night and he'd never cooked for her. The prospect of not having to cook for herself more than outweighed her desire to sleep in her own bed, so she'd readily agreed.

"It's a law firm; they just want a reason to get drunk so they call it a dinner instead."

She looked at the invitation doubtfully. "I'm all for getting drunk on someone else's money but why do you want _me_ to go? Isn't it just for your lawyer buddies?"

Richard laughed and the sound echoed from the kitchen. He didn't have an open plan living and dining room as she and Meg did and his kitchen didn't have a bar table but the two rooms were close by and it was still possible to have a conversation. "Well those buddies are bringing their partners. I just figured it'd be nice to bring you as well."

Even as oblivious as she could be, Christine knew the nonchalance in his tone was fake – he clearly wanted her to come but was unwilling to show just how much. "Well, I guess it could be all right," she started off, even though deep down she had no real desire to attend, "and it'd be nice to meet more of the people you work with."

He appeared at the door-way, a hopeful expression on his face. "And the free alcohol," he piped up, "don't forget that."

In the face of such enthusiasm she couldn't bring herself to say no. "Why not?"

"Excellent!" he beamed, retreating back into the kitchen. "Which is why I know you'll still be willing to come when I tell you who else is coming along."

Christine frowned, stepping up from the couch and swiping her drink as she wandered into the kitchen. "Who else do I know that would be coming?"

He turned from the stove and she could tell from his expression it wasn't someone particularly nice. "Well, to be honest I'm not entirely sure whether they _will_ come along but usually the bigger clients get invited to these shin-digs."

"What client of yours would I – _oh_," she trailed off, realisation hitting her. "Destler."

"Yep," he nodded, "look, I know it's awkward with the kiss and everything but you haven't heard from him in two weeks and he's notorious for not showing up to these sort of things – "

She tuned him out slightly, as she tried to work out why she was feeling so hesitant about going. Because Richard was right – it _had_ been two weeks and she hadn't heard a single thing from him, save the telephone call to her boss. Surely if he was thinking of pursuing the issue, he would've called? He would have contacted her in some way?

And then she mentally reprimanded herself. _Why the hell would you want him to contact you anyway!_

" – and I can tell you're not listening to me because you've got the frown dimples."

She quickly glanced back up at him. "I do not have frown dimples!"

Richard grinned, leaning over to kiss her on the forehead. "You do, sweetheart. They're not as cute as you're 'beaming grin' dimples but they're pretty cute all the same."

She tried to look disgruntled but it was hard with him smiling at her. "Oh, whatever."

"Honestly, if you don't want to come I'll understand," he said seriously.

She shook her head. "No, I'll come. Like you said, Destler hardly ever comes along to these things anyway."

* * *

To be fair, the location was pretty fantastic.

A recently done-up surf club on the edge of the beach it apparently sported some pretty magnificent views – it wasn't a place she would regularly attend (and not only because her wallet couldn't afford it) but she felt even if the night was a bust, it was worth it to see the place. The only bad thing seemed to be the minimal parking and Richard huffed and groaned as he eventually parked his car on the street.

"Maybe you should get yourself a chauffeur?" she offered as she shut the door and readjusted her cardigan.

"And increase the opportunities for me to drink myself to death?" he enquired, pressing the lock on his key and dropping it into his pocket. "No thanks."

She laughed as her took her hand, leading her back towards the club and down the car-park driveway to the entrance.

The reception area was formal and a man in a suit greeted them and asked for their names, checking them off before ushering them through a double set of doors. Entering through to the entertaining area, she was pretty thrown back. An assortment of rounded tables filled the first half of the open area with a dance floor taking up the second half. A bar was situated along most of the right hand wall.

But the most spectacular thing of the room was the floor to roof glass windows, displaying the ocean on a relatively calm night. With just enough moonlight to illuminate the slight waves, it was a magnificence view.

"Geeze," she said eventually, trying to stop herself from gaping, "it's fantastic."

"I know," Richard said warmly, placing his arm around her and giving her a smile.

Although her evening was precisely fun-filled (Richard seemed hell bent on introducing her to _everyone_ he knew and the names and faces had started rolling into one great mass) she was still enjoying herself. It was a classy venue filled with some pretty high-rolling entities and although she could have felt entirely out of place, she rather felt a bit more adult than she ever had before.

As if maybe she could fit in with these people; talk about world matters and not feel like a child. Although she knew that most people whose parents died young were forced to grow up fast, she'd never felt like that had happened to her. In fact, it had always been the opposite. There were still people back at the office who insisted on calling her 'kid'.

"You've been coming along in strides," a booming voice brought her back to the conversation at hand, "best thing we did was hire you, Richard. You and I both know that Destler can be a bit of a handful but you've dealt with each situation that has come up."

It was Richard's boss, George. Christine rather thought the name didn't do the man justice, if that were at all possible. At well over 6 feet the man towered over most people and he was built like a tank. He wasn't the sort of bloke she figured for a lawyer but listening to him speak she'd realised he wasn't a man to be trifled with.

"You've got yourself a great man there, Christine," he continued, and she smiled as Richard turned a bright shade of red, "I wouldn't let him go."

"I'll keep that in mind."

It was about that time that something came along to put a dint in the evening – Destler made his appearance even though he was well over an hour late. And she was soon to lean that if she had been worried about the situation being awkward in any way, shape or form, she was completely wrong.

They were forced to greet him, being in the same circle as Richard's boss at the time.

"Mr Destler," George said, "you made it!"

Christine couldn't say that the man in question looked thrilled to be there and she wondered why he had bothered to turn up if he was hell bent on being displeased with everyone there. As introductions were made her anxiousness increased until they reached she and Richard.

"And of course you know Richard and this would be his lovely partner, Christine."

"Indeed," the man said shortly, giving them each less than impressed looks, "we've already been introduced. Miss Day used to work for me."

And that was it. Although she certainly hadn't been expecting a bear hug, she was certainly taken back by his cold tone and complete dismissal as the man actively turned on them to start a conversation with George.

As the night progressed, it became entirely evident that Destler was treating her like everyone else: rude and exceedingly arrogant. Although the room sported closed to a hundred people, they still crossed paths every now and then and every meeting was much the same. The conversation was short and stilted and he offended everyone in every possible way – especially her and Richard.

Part of her was outraged – furious even. She'd spent the better part of four months dealing with the man, handling his bullshit and _this_ was how he was acting? Simply because she'd run out on him after he'd inappropriately jumped her in his office? Another part of her knew she was being ridiculous. After all, she'd said to Richard she wanted nothing more to do with him and here he was giving her the best excuse to do so.

* * *

The topping on her Destler filled night came three hours after the party had started, where the man in question managed to corner her after she'd come out of the ladies room.

"What is it that you want, Mr Destler?" she asked coolly when he stepped to her side as she tried to make her way to the bar.

"Who says I want something?" he replied, and a frown crossed her face.

"You've been an asshole all evening," she answered bluntly, "if you've come over here solely to annoy me than congratulations, you've succeeded. You can go away now."

"Are you worried I might ruin your perfect evening?"

_Your mere presence has ruined my evening_, she thought uncharitably but decided against saying it. "I am trying to enjoy a good night," she conceded, "you're not making it easy for me."

"You _want_ to fit in with these people, don't you?" he sneered as she was eventually forced to stop and deal with him. "You want to be filled with a false sense of satisfaction and security that only comes from people who are too rich."

"That's a bit ridiculous coming from a man as rich as yourself," she retorted quickly, "besides, these people are Richard's co-workers, his boss and his clients. What do you think I should, Erik? Turn up the music and start dancing on the tables?"

"I think you want a boring, perfect little life. Marry a lawyer, be his wife in a little house with 2.5 adorable kids. Domesticated."

She was speechless; where the hell had _that_ come from? It wasn't remotely appropriate to speculate on her life like that! Who, or even _whether_, she married was completely her own business and her life was her own!

"You're going to follow this path because it's safer," he said. "And Richard can give you this safe little life. So you can hide away from anything remotely dangerous."

She opened her mouth to tell him where to shove it but they were interrupted by a server carrying drinks. Before she knew it, he had disappeared out the door.

It took her ten seconds before she made up her mind, knowing it was only the alcohol that was making her brave enough to chase him out the door and into the car-park.

"You tell _me_ I'm hiding?" she spilled out, slightly out of breath. She'd caught him just before he'd gotten in his car, a fair way up from the entrance. If she hadn't been so furious at the man, she would've marvelled at her ability to run so far in such inappropriate shoes. "That's more than a little hypocritical coming from someone who wears a mask."

Even as the words came out of her mouth, she knew it was the wrong thing to say. But she held herself together because hell, she was slightly tipsy and yeah, she was more than a little annoyed at him (and okay; mostly because she knew after this night she'd never have to deal with him again and there was something comforting about being able to let out the pent-up rage at the infuriating man in front of her).

"Excuse me?"

"No, I'm pretty sure you heard me," she replied in a tone that conveyed more confidence than she perhaps felt.

The car door slammed shut and he turned slowly to face her. The lighting wasn't fantastic, there was a street light about three car spots up on the left, but the expression on his face was pretty clear regardless. "You think this is by _choice_?"

"Of course it's by choice," she retorted, "you wear a mask because you want to hide. How is that any different to what you said to me before?"

"I'm not sure, Christine," the reply came but the sarcasm dripped from his words, "maybe because you're not _actually_ disfigured?"

"No, I don't believe that," she said simply, outright refusing to let him get the best of her, "you put on a mask because you want to hide some aspect of your person from the world. You don't get a free pass simply because you're disfigured, Erik. The world doesn't work like that."

"Oh, you're absolutely right, Christine. Because the world would definitely give me a break if I took off my mask and dealt with my problems head on, wouldn't it? People would love me so much more if they knew what I really looked like, wouldn't they?"

"Of course they wouldn't, you patronising son of a bitch," she snarled, "but your consistently disgusting attitude towards life and people in general is far more disabling than your disfigurement, _trust_ me."

In the end, she isn't quite sure what made her do it. It certainly wasn't solely the alcohol but combined with her anger it was enough for her to contemplate it. In one swift movement she was in front of him and before she could comprehend that she was _actually _doing it, she had ripped off his mask.

"Are you happy now?" he hissed, after the moment of shock had passed. "Is _this_ what you wanted to see?"

She wasn't going to lie; some part of her was physically repulsed by the sight in front of her. The shadowy light didn't help; making the twisted and grotesque flesh seem like it was somehow crawling. It spread up and down the left side of his face, red and puckering down to his chin and up almost to his hairline. The eye itself seemed sunken into his face and she thought it a marvel that he hadn't lost his sight.

"Come, look closer at the gargoyle."

"Stop it," she whispered, her shocked expression turning into a frown, "you're being crude because you _want_ me to be disgusted."

"Because you _are_ disgusted!"

She stared at him – _really_ stared, not just at his disfigurement but at the man as a whole. Of course the sight in front of her was scary – in a world filled with people who consistently tried to hide their blemishes and look beautiful all the time, his disfigurement was something out of the ordinary. But she knew this man; as much as she didn't want to; and although he had a great propensity to make everyone hate him, she'd seen the better parts of his personality.

Mostly she just thought it unfair that someone as intelligent as him had been cursed with his face.

"May I touch it?" she asked, her expression challenging.

And for the first time since she'd met him, she saw uncertainty cross his face. But there was no refusal, so slowly she reached out, her fingers grazing over the flesh and she saw him flinch slightly. The flesh was bumpy as it looked but she was intrigued – how had this happened? Simply by birth? Or had there been an accident?

It was a strange moment, broken by the loud call of her name.

"Christine?"

Their eyes met and instantly she dropped her hand. "Richard."

"My mask, please."

She handed it out to him and watched as he turned slightly to fix it to his face. Although Richard had called again, she ignored him for a moment. "You shouldn't hate yourself for something that's not your fault, Erik," she said eventually, "because if you didn't hate yourself then perhaps you wouldn't hate everyone else."

"Christine!"

"You should get back to the party," the man said quietly.

She'd walked a few steps back to the entrance before he called out her name. "Christine?" She turned, giving him a curious look. "I don't hate you."

* * *

Silent and contemplative, she walked back to where Richard was standing.

"Where were you?" he asked, concern all over his face and she instantly felt guilty.

"I had an argument," she said eventually, hating herself for lying but knowing he wouldn't understand, "I think you can guess with who."

"Out here? With Destler?" he asked. "Are you okay?"

"Alcohol always makes it seem like a better idea than it is," she shrugged, "I was just so angry at him – I wanted him to understand what a jerk he was being."

"Destler is nothing, okay? You don't have to worry about what he thinks about you because his opinion doesn't count."

"I know but he was being _so_ rude to you – "

He wrapped her up in a hug. "You don't have to worry about him anymore; he's gone."

She felt awful, like she was betraying this good man who had done nothing but be an excellent boyfriend, but she was filled with a sense of despondency. She felt like she and Erik had shared something in the car-park; as if by revealing his mask she had revealed some inner part of him and the thought of not seeing him again after that was disappointing.

But that was ridiculous. She'd spent the better half of the year alternating between hating the man, loathing the man and wondering why his flashes of good personality were so far and few between.

Why did she care?

* * *

It looks so puny when I format on here, but that's 13 pages! /whine

**Up next:** Richard's in for a shock when he realises that Destler isn't going to give up without a fight.


End file.
